


Falling like giants in the world of men

by BehindBrokenWindows



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon Compliant, Canon Gay Relationship, F/M, Give the man some happiness, Internalized Homophobia, James' backstory, Let's challenge the world, M/M, Miranda is the all-important glue, Sad Backstory, Slow Burn, Thomas isn't as confident as he seems, Tragic Romance, in which plans for nassau are made mostly while drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2018-12-17 00:24:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 119,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11840151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BehindBrokenWindows/pseuds/BehindBrokenWindows
Summary: This follows the exact storyline from the day Lord Thomas Hamilton met Lieutenant James McGraw until the bitter end. It is the tragic love story we all know, seen from Thomas' perspective.





	1. Chapter One

The air was filled with the chiming of church bells and the desperate cry of hungry birds, sailing far overhead. People and horses and carriages filled the grey street below, each heading impatiently to their designed destination, not looking at each other as they passed. They were like busy ants and London their hill, Queen Anne their chief. Lord Hamilton couldn’t pride himself on being much different from them, his rank doing little to separate him from the masses. They were all the same, from a bird’s view.

This day was a particularly busy day and Lord Hamilton had left his home prepared for difficult conversations and the inevitable ache in his lower back and under his feet that would most likely begin to distract him sometime after two thirty. _Thank God_ , thought he, _that I am to meet the liaison before that time_.

His first visit was to St. John’s orphanage where he held a sort of sermon after breakfast every Wednesday. The boys minded his talking less than that of the Sisters, he dared even think that some of them quite enjoyed his visits, which was why he made sure to talk in a language they could better understand, about things they could easier accept than the dry and monotone preaching the Sisters swore to. He was the biggest donor to this particular boy’s home and had taken on an unwarranted liking for quite a number of the boys – which was why he spent sometimes more than half an hour talking to them after his self-imposed duty was fulfilled. It was mostly the younger ones that came to him, while the older boys scoffed and sniggered throughout his speech. Lord Hamilton was not in the habit of caring what others thought of him, and so long as there was hope for the younger ones, he would not be deterred by those who refused help wherever it was offered.

Next, his carriage took him to St. Bartholomew’s Royal Hospital where he visited an old friend who had in many ways been more of a father to him than his biological father ever had. It was one of his old teachers from Eton, one who shared Lord Hamilton’s particular love for books and one who, against all the lord’s earlier suppositions, was an eager defender of modernism. They talked for half an hour and Lord Hamilton was provided with a new subject as well as new arguments that he would bring to his next salon. However, the professor soon grew weary of company and ushered the young man from his side with an affectionate goodbye.

Realising he was almost late, Lord Hamilton hurried to his appointment with one of the Earl’s men. Lord Hamilton’s father had insisted on this, a second clarification on his task concerning the Bahama Island, as if Lord Hamilton had not already delved into it, as if he did not already have all the information his father and his men had about the place. It was unnecessary but unavoidable and his father’s man knew that too, so they were soon finished.

Now, Lord Hamilton was early for his meeting with the Liaison, but bumped into an acquaintance on the very steps he was waiting on. He was an amiable fellow, but too unconcerned for Lord Hamilton’s liking, and though he listened to the Lord’s talk of principles, he seemed to have none himself. It was in the middle of an argument, trying to coerce the other man into having an opinion, that the bells struck eleven. Lord Hamilton didn’t notice the arrival of the person he was waiting for before that person called his name.

“Lord Thomas Hamilton?” Lord Hamilton turned presently, eyes falling on the man who had spoken, not quite as tall as the Lord himself – though few people were for he was a particularly tall and slim man – dressed in an immaculate navy uniform.

Gathering his wits about him, and hiding how his jaw slackened, Lord Hamilton spoke; “Ah, are you the liaison sent by the Admiralty?” It was, indeed, a very fine uniform and the man wore it with an air of superiority and confidence that brought credibility to his person. Lord Hamilton had never before been so glad for his ability to keep his features neutral, but his eyes took in the man a second time, from the toe of his shiny boots to the folds of his jacket, lingered on his cleanly shaven jaw, until they finally found his eyes.

“I am, my lord.” He was a stern man, but younger than Lord Hamilton had expected him to be and more serious than any man of his age had any right to be. Lord Hamilton excused himself and invited the stranger to follow him.

“Lieutenant James McGraw, if I remember correctly. Do you know the history of New Providence island, Lieutenant?” inquired Lord Hamilton.

“Not in detail, my Lord.”

“They say it started with a man named Henry Avery. Sailed into the port of Nassau, bribed the colonial Governor to look past his sins, and encamped his crew upon the beach, and thus began the pirate issue on New Providence island. Where and when will it all end? I supposed that’s where you and I come into the story. As I’m sure you’re aware, my father, the Earl, holds great sway amongst his peers in Whitehall. He has asked for the assistance of her Majesty’s Navy in pacifying the island to which he holds title. He was assured that this request would be considered a matter of utmost importance.”

“Undoubtedly, my Lord.” Amongst other less kind things, Lord Thomas Hamilton was known for being a gentle man, one who did not raise his voice, one who treated everyone too kindly no matter their status or sins, and indeed there was truth to this. Lord Hamilton believed in the good in people, but for all his goodness, he was not a naïve man, and he knew too well the greediness of others. Whatever people might say about him, he was not a fool.

“Then perhaps you can tell me why they decided to send _you_?” He did not take pleasure in potentially hurting his fellow men, nor did he want to misjudge them over things he’d heard, but his trust had been broken before and this task was too important for that to happen.

“Beg pardon my Lord?”

“A number of your superiors are former schoolmates of mine. I canvassed them about your reputation. The son of a carpenter, no record of any formal schooling, and yet more literate than any three boys I knew at Eton. You are a rising star with a bright future in the Admiralty, you can understand my concern.” The first part of this seemed expected, and Lord Hamilton thought Lieutenant McGraw must be used to injuries of the kind but the man shifted awkwardly under Lord Hamilton’s heavy gaze all the same. However, the second part was as surprising as the first was unsurprising, and Lord Hamilton hoped it was enough to show the man that he said what he did not to injure, but to raise a concern and hopefully find a satisfying answer. The Lieutenant straightened.

“Not really,” he admitted, and let a touch of annoyance seep into his voice. “Perhaps my lack of education is showing.” The Lieutenant almost smiled, and Lord Hamilton wanted to join him, but he had no time for flippancy. Scoffing softly, he stepped closer to the man until he was looming over him.

“I intend to accomplish something here, Lieutenant. I intend to save Nassau before she’s lost forever, and I cannot do that with a partner who might be more concerned about advancing his career than he is about realizing this goal.” The Lieutenant met his gaze, at last, and his mouth curled at the corner in the resemblance of a smile.

“You want to save Nassau, my lord?”

“Very much so.”

“Then perhaps my job is to make certain you know what you’re getting into.” There was a sort of proud defiance in the Lieutenant’s voice that made Lord Hamilton’s fingers tingle with delight, with hope.

“And how are you intending to do that?” _Yes_ , thought he, _yes, this might actually work_.

“Are you busy?”

“Very, and all the time. But if you deem something important, I will trust your judgement,” _and pray that I have reason to_.

“Then meet me at the south end of – Street tomorrow some time before ten. Now, with you leave, I will excuse myself. I’m afraid I’m needed at the docks due to the early arrival of a ship returning from Africa, and I was told this was to be a short meeting.”

“Of course, Lieutenant, I will see you in the morning. Gooday.” It was a short meeting indeed, and Lord Hamilton wondered if someone had told the Lieutenant it was only so he could accept or refuse the man who was to be his partner, or if the Lieutenant had thought that out for himself.

It was early in the day still, and much work remained for Lord Hamilton. There were quarrels, again, between the building company and the future principal of the new school Lord Hamilton was financing, and because of some failure in the employment of a mediator, the Lord had decided to take the matter into his own hands, before he knew the amount of work it required to simply keep the men from refusing to work with each other. It took them close to two hours to find an agreeable compromise, and Lord Hamilton went out, immediately after, to find someone else to do the job and only report to him if something of great consequence should happen.

The rest of the day was not much different, and the meeting between Lords was frightfully similar to breaking up the squabble over the Principal’s office. They refused to agree on the simple basis of not wanting to say the same thing as their adversary, and Lord Hamilton was as tired of it as Lord Philpott was, but they did their duty and tried to argue for reason, but it was long and tiring and they made little headway.

Lord Hamilton could return, at last, to his home on – Street, before the clock struck nine and dinner was served presently in the small dining room at the back of the house. Were it not for the clouds, he might’ve been able to see the sun make the sky red.

“Is the Lady not here, Ophelia?” Lord Hamilton asked when he sat down at the empty table.

“She went to the opera; don’t you remember sir?”

“Oh, right. Thank you, dear.” Lord Hamilton sunk tiredly into his seat like a marionette without strings, and he ate in silence because he had no choice. Lord Hamilton retired early, with a glass of scotch and a long book he did not care to open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every kudos and comment means something, and please give me feedback. If you find this chapter boring, too slow - whatever, please tell me so I can improve myself!


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lieutenant McGraw shows Lord Hamilton a part of the real world, and Lady Hamilton oversteps her boundaries.

“What is this exercise intended to prove, Lieutenant?” Lord Hamilton stifled a yawn as he followed the other man through the busy docks the next morning. He hadn’t slept well. His wife had come home late the night before and had looked in on him, retiring to her own bed when she thought him asleep. He might’ve called out to her, he’d wanted to but – it was late, so he turned around and lay restlessly for the remainder of the night.

“You want to understand why piracy flourishes in the west indies; I’m about to show you.” The man was being purposefully vague, making Lord Hamilton somewhat uneasy, but this partnership could not work if they did not trust each other. A few minutes later Lord Hamilton found out exactly what they were doing here at this hour. The Lieutenant mirrored his grimace. “Have you seen one of these before?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t, no. Who is he?” They had arrived before the gallows along with a crowd of roaring people. A filthy man was standing above them, visible for everyone. He had a thick rope around his neck.

“Davey, someone-or-other. High seas piracy, treason, so on and so forth. Same as the last, same as the next. Being asked if he want to confess, beg forgiveness in the eyes of God and Queen Anne.” Lord Hamilton was uncertain whether the disgust in the Lieutenant’s voice was directed at the pirate or Queen Anne. What he knew for certain, was that the man had a cynical way of looking upon the world that was quite contrary to his own. Perhaps that was how one became, after having gone to enough of these petty executions. Lord Hamilton did not like it.

“Suck my cock!” yelled the condemned man and the crowd around them surged with him as Lord Hamilton drew in a startled breath.

“I assume that was a no.”

“I’m sorry my lord, I did not mean to… these are crude men, one must excuse their language, they’re only –”

“I am not so sensitive that a bit of crude language puts me off, Lieutenant, I have heard worse,” Lord Hamilton said sternly and fixed the man with a heavy gaze. The Lieutenant looked doubtful. “It might surprise you to hear that I have also said worse. I am not a peacock swaddled in silks with cotton in my ears. Lords are just men, you’d be surprised at what they laugh about when no one can hear them. So, this is the lesson? The pirates of New Providence island are incorrigible, dedicated to mayhem. To attempt to address this subject is doomed to defeat from the outset.”

Having regained his composure, the Lieutenant answered around tight lips; “Not him I wanted you to see,” and he nodded towards the crowd.

For Lord Hamilton, death had always been a hushed affair, something sacred, something one mourned. At the age of thirteen he had buried his mother, and he could still remember the chill in his bones, the inability to speak. He had not said a word for a week entire. It was the only time his father had not punished him when he wept like a girl.

When the man on the gallows fell with a shout and his neck snapped loudly in the rope, the crowd roared around them until the sound of them became deafening. The body danced to the rhythm of applause and Lord Hamilton turned sick to the stomach.

“It’s them!” the Lieutenant shouted over the noise. “Civilization needs its monsters.”

“You think Whitehall wants piracy to flourish in the Bahamas?” The very thought made his blood boil.

“No, I don’t think they want it, but I think they’re aware of the cost associated with trying to fight it. And I think that that sound –” The Lieutenant’s eyebrows were drawn together in disgust, his expression darkened at beholding the people around them, “- travels.” The Lieutenant met Lord Hamilton’s eyes for only a moment, before he continued wistfully; “You’re an educated man my Lord, but I think it worth reminding you that in most cases a man trying to change the world fails for one simple and unavoidable reason; everyone else.”

Lord Hamilton contemplated this gravely for a moment, the way he did everything, and though he did concede that the Lieutenant did have a point – “Is it not everyone else who make changes possible? What can one man do alone? If we do not work together –” Lord Hamilton stopped himself in time, and apologized to the Lieutenant. They could discuss this for hours, days, maybe for all their time together, and he doubted they would come to an understanding that satisfied them both. That did not mean he did not want to talk about it, rather the contrary, but not now. “Are you pressed for time?”

“My time is at your disposition, my lord, until we have seen this endeavour through.”

“And how do you feel about that, Lieutenant McGraw?” He was not an easy man to understand, but the Lieutenant’s mouth turned upwards in a feral smirk.

“I could say it’s an honour, and I would be speaking truthfully, but I do not think that is the kind of answer my lord wants.” Lord Hamilton met the Lieutenant’s daring gaze with one of his own, and answered his smile in kind. The tingling in his fingers came back and something unknown unfurled in his belly.

“And what kind of answer do you believe I want?” The Lieutenant replied but with a smile, so Lord Hamilton left him there and dove into the slowly dissolving throng of people, feeling McGraw’s hot gaze on his back.

Lord Hamilton made little headway with the spectators of the day’s execution. The ones who did not dare walk away from him without a word would reply with anger or fear, and an old fisherman’s wife simply swatted him away as if he was but a fly. Still, he indulged himself. 

From what he could gather, these people agreed with the laws in place. Pirates deserved to die. Some of them had lost family to pirates, others had lost friends to piracy, others simply enjoyed watching people hang for their crimes, no matter the person, no matter the crime. They were all afraid, Lord Hamilton reasoned with himself. The pirate issue was nothing but a mild annoyance to the upper classes. However, these people were affected by its presence in their everyday life, threatened by it for it might take anyone – sons who sought glory at sea, daughters seduced or kidnapped, husbands killed and wives raped. To them, pirates were monsters. To Lord Hamilton, they were men brought astray by miserable circumstances forced upon them by men like himself.

“A coin, sir?” Lord Hamilton looked down upon the boy who had pulled at his coat. The mother was frantically trying to drag him away, but stopped when Lord Hamilton smiled at them.

“Take this, it’s very lucky – you hold on to it.” The boy took the coin with wide eyes, not used to, perhaps, a just treatment. The mother thanked Lord Hamilton repeatedly, then grabbed hold of her son and escorted him away. For a moment Lord Hamilton closed his eyes and sighed, regaining his composure. It was a long and difficult road he had embarked on.

Presently, he returned to where he had last seen the Lieutenant, and was surprised to find him in conversation with one of London’s most handsome women. If Lord Hamilton was not mistaken, the Lieutenant was very well aware of the fact. Lord Hamilton’s smile was hesitant as he approached them.

“Lieutenant, I see you have met my darling wife.” The spell they seemed to have been under broke minutely and the Lieutenant stepped away from the carriage, not returning the secret smile directed at him by Lady Hamilton. “To what do I owe the pleasure, my dear?” Lord Hamilton approached his wife and put his hand on the open windowsill where she could hold it gently, capturing him with her sparkling eyes. He had always been captivated by the childlike glee he found there; it was something that had not altered during all their years together.

“What am I to do with you, dearest Thomas?” Having recovered from his initial embarrassment, the Lieutenant looked at them curiously.

“I’m afraid I don’t know of what it is I am guilty this time, but will plead your forgiveness all the same, as the fault is surely mine, and I will remedy it as her Ladyship commands, at once and in full.” Through their innocent interaction an air of fond familiarity spread between Lord Hamilton and his wife.

“Do you know, Lieutenant, that I haven’t seen my husband for a period longer than ten minutes this last week? Always he is running from this to that, without thinking a second of his poor old wife, who has nothing to do but order the servants to fetch her a new book. I’m afraid she will soon fall to drink if she does not get the attention she so rightly deserves. What should one do, Lieutenant, if one’s husband is a liar and a cheat?” Lord Hamilton might have been worried at this passionate monologue had he not known his wife as well as he did, and had she not said it with such tenderness that the Lieutenant understood she was not in so poor a situation.

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know much on the subject of husbands, ma’am; I never had one, myself.” Lady Hamilton’s laughter was captivating in its own way, not one that fills a room to the chagrin of others, but not quite as restrained as some. When she laughed, it was a rich sound, a true expression of happiness that made everyone want to join her, but never overdo her. “But should I find equal behaviour in one of my men, I might have him scrub the deck or peel potatoes for a week.”

“Mercy, I beg of you – anything but crawling around on my knees!” When Lord Hamilton smiled it was a precious sort of thing, and this time he felt a burden ease from his shoulders. The Lieutenant, he noticed then, had a capable pair of shoulders. Surely, he could share the weight of this endeavour with him.

“What is the matter, then?” Lord Hamilton asked, having sobered.

“Lunch is cold on the table, again. I had my fill, of course, but – Thomas, this time you promised. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” Lord Hamilton had not noticed how time had flown away from him, and he had, indeed, gone out with the full intent of returning for lunch.

“I’m afraid the fault is all mine,” the Lieutenant confessed gravely. “I asked your husband to come with me –”

Lord Hamilton did not let him finish his speech. “Yes, I am very ashamed. Perhaps you can forgive me if I bring company for supper tonight?”

“And who might this unlucky person be?” Lady Hamilton enquired.

“Why, the Lieutenant, of course.” Lord Hamilton looked at the Lieutenant for a reaction, but was not satisfied with what he saw in the man’s face. He put a reassuring hand on the man’s arm. “Only if you want to, of course, but I believe a closer knowledge of each other’s disposition might be in our favour, do you not agree, Lieutenant?”

“Certainly, my lord, but –” Lieutenant McGraw straightened and Lord Hamilton let his hand fall. It was with mild irritation that Lord Hamilton understood the man’s reservations. No matter their working relationship, sons of carpenters did not dine with Lords. It was a notion to be dispelled for another time, however. “I’m afraid I have an appointment elsewhere tonight, but some other day, if it pleases you, my lord.”

“An appointment elsewhere, whatever could that be?” A warning look from her husband to encourage Lady Hamilton to drop the matter, was pointedly ignored. The Lieutenant did not look at either of them as he replied.

“I’m afraid I cannot say, it is a private matter.” This, and the becoming flush on the Lieutenant’s face, was only delighting Lady Hamilton further.

“A private matter! How interesting. Have you a secret lady friend, Lieutenant McGraw? Perhaps you hope to woo her into holy matrimony, how romantic wouldn’t that be?”

“I assure you,” the Lieutenant replied in a strained voice, “that it is nothing of the sort.”

“But if it is not a young woman making you blush so, what on earth could it be?” Lord Hamilton stepped in before the poor man had to squirm any further under his wife’s scrutiny.

“Excuse my wife, Lieutenant, and do not feel that you are, in any circumstance, required to answer her questions – certainly not when they regard your personal life. Share with her only what you wish.” The Lieutenant looked at him with thankful eyes and offered a curt nod. “Are we done, Lieutenant, or do you have more to show me? No? Until Monday afternoon, then, unless something comes up. You do have the address?”

“Yes, my Lord, until Monday.” Lord Hamilton climbed into the carriage with his wife, and with a last, lingering look at the Lieutenant, they were brought away from the docks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Publishing this story makes me so nervous, I really want it to be perfect and feel like I overlook important things or get things wrong - please, if you feel like something is off, feel free to tell me!
> 
> Kudos and comments are love and motivation!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Hamilton plunges himself into a depression.

As usual after a long day – and this had not simply been a long day, but a long week as well – it was Lady Hamilton that held the conversation during supper. She was already seated when Lord Hamilton returned home from a meeting with the Lords that stretched far longer than it should have, as Lord F– held him back in a failed attempt to have him change sides and abandon his morals. It had been an embarrassing affaire.

Lord Hamilton kissed his wife’s hair before seating himself with a sluggishness he was, blessedly, unfamiliar with. He listened to her with little attention, but was none the less glad for her conversation, and she knew him well enough not to expect answers. Lord Hamilton rarely spoke unless he had something to say, and today he did not have that energy.

“… so, having called for the doctor, she walked to the windows and what do you think she sees there? The stable boy – I don’t remember his name – was…” Lord Hamilton tried his pork, then took a large sip of the French wine. He offered a chuckle at the end of his wife’s tale, and had another forkful of the food. Despite his lack of attention and engagement, this was one of his favourite times of the day. He had always loved listening to his wife’s voice and now, as always, it lulled him into a passive state of being that let him relax fully in ways he had no occasion to during the day. He knew she was not overly fond of gossiping, but she knew what relief she offered with her mundane tales, and did it happily.

“Miranda, darling,” Lord Hamilton interrupted when his plate was not as full as it had been when he’d arrived. “I would like to retire early tonight, and I believe an hour alone will be to my benefit, but could you – I would be very happy if you might join me, after.” It was a common request, in the Hamilton household, but Lord Hamilton was seldom so hesitant when voicing it.

“Why, of course. Would you doubt it?” Lord Hamilton met his wife’s bemusement with a wavering smile. “Thomas, are you quite all right? Has something happened?”

“I’m simply tired, dear.” Lord Hamilton left the table before his wife had finished.

Something he was not quite able to identify was simmering in Thomas Hamilton, something that made him restless. He didn’t often pace up and down a room, he was much more prone to silent reflexion, and often he would stand entirely still for a span of several minutes. Tonight, he felt he might circle his chamber until the coming of dawn.

To distract himself a moment longer from the thoughts that plagued him so, Lord Hamilton stepped out of his fine clothing and washed himself thoroughly. It was an entirely unsatisfying endeavour. In front of Lord Hamilton’s looking glass stood a man, stripped of his fine silks and everything else that made him someone important, until all that was left was Thomas, in a pair of white breeches that might belong to anyone. He was a tall and slender man with very little hair on his body and no defined musculature to speak of. He had lost weight of late, and his face was much gaunter than it had been when he was still a young man. Not that he was in any way advanced in years – no, he liked to think that he was approaching his prime, not quite so young he lacked experience, not quite so old he feared taking risks. And yet –

Lord Hamilton seated himself in front of his looking glass for a closer inspection. His mouth looked more downturned than he remembered it having been before, his eyes were sunk somewhat into his skull, slightly bruised from exhaustion. If he wasn’t entirely mistaken his hair had lost some of its shine.

The thought made him scoff at himself, but he caught the sight of his own smile reflected to him. Vanity, he had to admit, was not a foreign concept to him. He prided himself on being less concerned than his fellow men, and it was not some desperation to be pleasing in the eyes of others, but the thought of growing old, of becoming his father and everything the notion entailed was – terrifying, and he could not shake it, no matter how irrational that fear might be.

Old age was still some ways away, and his face remained free of wrinkles, free of that weatheredness one so often sees in men that have known more hardship. How soft he must seem in the eyes of men like Lieutenant McGraw, how protected – without a callus on his hands, without a scar. The only time he could remember ever having broken a sweat was when learning how to dance by the infamous Madame Dargent. He had never wanted to learn how to fence.

“Thomas?” Lord Hamilton did not have to reply; his wife entered before he had time to gather himself. “Oh dear,” muttered she when she saw him seated there. Was he glad for one thing in his choice of wife, it was her keen intellect, her instincts when confronted with his varying moods.

“I think if that is the reaction the sight of me inspire, I look worse than I am, which is a good thing, I suppose. Although I do hope I’m not too wrecked for you tonight, my Lady.”

“You certainly have looked better, but in no state could you repel me, not even if you tried.” Having risen from his seat, Lord Hamilton met his wife as she drew nearer.

“I know. I have been trying for years, but you are a stubborn witch and I do not know what to do with you.” Lady Hamilton had learnt early on that when her husband was on his most serious, he more often than not spoke in jest.

“So, what has brought up this bout of fatigue extraordinaire?” Standing quite still, Lady Hamilton let her husband lace her out of her fine gown the way they always did when she came to him in the evening.

“This is remarkable material, wherever did you get it?”

“I am truly offended that it took you the day entire to realise that this is new, you are not often this slow. I deduce that something is heavy on your mind and I would very much like to know what it is so that I might fight it for you.”

“And therein lies the problem.” Lord Hamilton pressed against his wife’s back and pulled the recently loosened corset from her chest. “Should I not fight my own battles?”

“If man did not need woman, marriage would never have been. You are not meant to bear your troubles on your own, you cannot.”

“But women do not need men?” Lady Hamilton placed her hands on his over her hips.

“No, we are resilient creatures, thorough where you are impulsive, steady where you are turbulent. Every man needs a woman to manage his affairs.” Lord Hamilton chuckled and agreed wholeheartedly.

“I’m truly sorry I can’t provide you with a child in return for your endless favours, Miranda.”

“Yes, I know. And I also know that I have told you innumerable times that I am not bothered by it.”

“Indeed,” Lord Hamilton huffed and pulled away from his wife to throw himself rather ungentlemanly onto the bed, “you are entirely satisfied with the situation I have put you in without a warning and should I dare think otherwise you will knock me over the head with something harder than a pillow. Miranda, I am well aware of my own shortcomings and there is nothing to gain from telling me or yourself that they are non-existent when we both know it to be untrue.”

“Have I ever said that I am entirely satisfied? I have been clear to you about how I feel on the matter, and I have never spoken untruthfully, but it helps nothing were I to cry and moan over my situation and you know that I do not want to nor have I ever felt the need to! My God, Thomas, whatever has come over you? You know that I want for nothing!” Lady Hamilton had advanced on her husband during her impassioned speech, but stopped short of the bed.

“Are you truly happy?” Lord Hamilton asked then, sitting up to face judgement.

“Thomas, I could be happy with no one else.”

“Oh, I dare say Mr Lennart made you quite happy for some time.” Thankfully, Lady Hamilton noted that her husband had regained some of his habitual playful humour.

“For about half an hour. However, my dear husband makes me happy every day.” Lady Hamilton dared finally to join her husband and draped herself over him when he reclined into the many cushions. He pulled the cover over them to protect her naked form from the cold of the night.

“I look very much forward to working with the Lieutenant; he seems to me a very interesting and peculiar man.” The change in subject might have been confusing to others, but Lady Hamilton knew her husband’s mind like she knew her own. It was a natural link between the subjects that she could see as clearly as the blue of Lord Hamilton’s eyes.

“In what regard? I’m afraid I don’t know much of him except that he has been well versed in how to address a Lady and how to stand as if he has something quite uncomfortable up his rare, if you will excuse my saying so.” It was the first true smile from Lord Hamilton that evening.

“He’s the son of a poor carpenter, if you can believe it. He must’ve fought every day to gain his position as a Lieutenant. I spoke to Daniel about him before I met him, and he said he never saw such an eager learner. When he wasn’t running around the ship and doing the amount of work for three men at once he was curled up in some hidden corner, thinking himself quite invisible, and always with a book – to polish his mind I assume. Platon, Homer, Cervantes… There was no end. How he got the books, Daniel couldn’t fathom, though he does still honestly believe he stole them.

“And yet, he fights like a thunderstorm, it’s said, with cutlass and pistol and even his hands. There seems to be no end to his redeeming qualities and it is said that Admiral Hennessey has taken a special liking to him, treating him as a student of his, favouring him in a way he favours no one else. Imagine how proud his family must be, imagine the glory he must have whenever he returns home. If he could, I don’t doubt my father would call him his own and leave everything to him.”

“And to top it off,” his wife added with a twinkle in her eyes, “the man is devilishly handsome. Do you think he’ll be visiting often?”

“You, my dear, are incorrigible. I believe you to be the worst flirt that I ever saw. Truly, I think the Lieutenant was nigh on fainting when you spoke with him yesterday.” Lord Hamilton considered for a moment to gather his thoughts, and continued thus; “but I regret to inform you that I cannot allow you to take the man to bed, no matter how often he visits. I know I have never limited your freedom before, and it is perhaps hypocritical of me to deny you him – considering our situation – but I do not believe he would react favourably, and I need him desperately for this endeavour. I do not wish for him to leave out of shame or whatever it might be that will surely trouble him.”

“I know, I wasn’t planning on it, he is much too proper. I simply thought it should be mentioned, as we are making a list – and quite an extensive one at that – of his good qualities.” Lord Hamilton had turned solemn again and they rested in silence. The Lady settled on her husband’s chest and let him play gently with her hair in slow gestures that was as soothing to him as it was to her. When Lady Hamilton spoke again, it was with much hesitance. “Why has the Lieutenant brought such a sour mood on you, Thomas?”

“It is not the man himself, I truly admire him and you do know that I am not prone to jealousy, but seeing what he has accomplished for himself already – he can’t possibly have reached his mid-thirties yet – it puts things in perspective. With all my integrity, I can’t even convince half the Lords to my views, I can barely keep the attention of the ones that come to my salons, and only if I remember to not say something too daring. My father refuses to hear me and he refuses to see me. I am a disgrace to my family – so on and so forth.”

“And you believe this –” Lady Hamilton had wanted to continue, because she knew well that her husband did not care for what others said, but the man himself interrupted her with raised spirits.

“It doesn’t matter if I believe it, it is true! Half of London whispers about mad Lord Hamilton and the rest chuckles at him! And I might not care what they think, I do not care. But what does it matter if I believe that I am on the moral high ground when there is not a single person out there that agrees with me wholeheartedly? I have done nothing, Miranda, nothing but dreaming and that helps nobody.”

“Oh, hush you!” Lady Hamilton said now sternly, and rose to her elbow to better look the man in the face. “You are being purposefully pitiful, and I do not enjoy it! You know as well as I do that you do everything in your power to make this world better for people that get no help elsewhere, for the people that need it the most. What about the boy’s home and the school you are financing? What about the homeless shelter and the distribution of whatever food we do not eat for dinner? Who else does the things you do, Thomas?

“Do you know what I told the Lieutenant yesterday? I said to him that truly great men are not made great by propriety or all the other things that your society values so – I told him that truly great men are made great only by the pursuit of a better world, and I told him, sir, that you are one such man. He did not contradict me, he did not look at me as if I was delusional, he looked at me as if he could see in you what I do, for what you really are. So please, my Lord, do not come here and talk about my husband in that way!” The silence after Lady Hamilton’s outburst was as forceful, as urgent and pressing as her words and her meaning had been. In a bout of profound childishness, Lord Hamilton wanted to bury his head beneath his pillow and not show himself again until he was certain that he deserved the love of the woman he called his wife. He refrained from doing so only because it would be terribly counterproductive.

“My God, I love you, Miranda, I truly do.”

“And?”

“And I will forever do everything in my power to be deserving of your kind words and to never be as silly as this again, because I really do try my utmost every day to be better.”

“Thank you.” Lord Hamilton divested himself of his breeches and curled protectively around his wife’s back.

“I do believe that is a new perfume too. I’m glad you have spoiled yourself for once, I was about to take drastic measures.”

“Are you suggesting that I have not been clothed well enough for you, nor smelling good enough? How unlucky I am to have gotten such a demanding husband.”

“Mm, you know you would be good enough for me even if you were wearing the clothes of a farmer’s wife and hadn’t bathed for a week. What I’m suggesting is that you have your eye on some new and incredibly lucky man.” Sighing deeply and pressing against her husband, Lady Hamilton replied; “a new someone at the library. He has been fixating on my bosom for quite some time and I think it appropriate to let him have a better look.” Lord Hamilton chuckled and pulled her tighter with his arm around her middle.

“How exciting, let us hope he is more… experienced than young Albert was.” It was the end of the night’s discussion and Lord Hamilton settled shortly thereafter, falling into a deep sleep, unperturbed by nightmares or worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was a bit uneventful, but I wanted to have them discuss James a bit, and I wanted to show you this side of my Thomas! I hope you liked it, and though I think not everyone might agree with everything that is implied, this situation seems likely to me.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always very much appreciated, also if it is to correct me if there are mistakes or to voice different opinions :)


	4. Chapter Four

Lord Thomas Hamilton awoke early and with a fresh mind; the problems of the previous night seemed mere trifles in the light of the morning. Having kissed the sleeping Lady with more affection than most men felt for their wives in a lifetime, he slipped from the bed gently so as not to wake her.

He dressed with the meticulousness he always did. He had, from a young age, refused the help of a valet, insisting that he could dress himself without tearing the fabric; he had never been particularly fond of bodily proximity from people he did not know intimately, and his first attempt at being familiar with his valet had gone terribly wrong due to several severe misunderstandings by all parties involved – his father being one of them.

Lord Hamilton had always been fond of clothing in his own way, although he was not one of those who followed desperately every change in the Parisian fashion. Neither did he have a good eye for colours, but Lady Hamilton was an expert on the subject and had taught him well which colours went together, even though he might not understand her reasons. However, Lord Hamilton loved the feeling that came with his dress; it was a sort of fortress, a façade he could hide behind, a lie never recognised. It required only a glance and passers-by knew he was important. It was not the power itself that seduced Lord Hamilton, though it greatly fascinated him what a change of clothing to do, but he found the false confidence his clothing provided incredibly soothing whenever he needed that bout of additional strength.

Having donned the entirety of his costume, Lord Hamilton went round the house to the second breakfast room. Before he could ring the bell, one of the servants entered with a tray in her capable hands.

“Ah, Daisy – perfect timing. Thank you very much.”

“Milord?”

“Yes, dear?”

“We heard talk, sir, ‘bout the Lieutenant, the one to be your liaison to the Admiralty. We was wonderin’ –”

“We _were_ wondering –”

“We were wondering, sir, if he will come for a visit, and if we should prepare somethin’ nice for you, sir.” The girl tried a curtsy and nearly lost her balance. Another man might’ve disapproved of her manners, but Lord Hamilton smiled at her fondly as her cheeks coloured. She’d only been here a day or two, since Ophelia left to see her mother in Padstow.

“Nothing beside the usual, I should think, and nothing too fine. Our man is of common breeding, you know, let us not overwhelm him with a banquet on the first day.” The girl curtsied again, and reflected Lord Hamilton kind smile at him before shuffling out.

Lord Hamilton had always preferred the second breakfast room despite that it was scarcely decorated, and had taken to using it when his father left him the house. He had a nice view on the gardens from here, and London, with all her haze, was stretched out before his eyes beyond it. The skies at the horizon were a light blue-grey still, but he predicted rain later in the day; the south wind was strong, he could tell by the swaying of the garden trees.

Lord Hamilton loved nothing better than the company of his clever wife, but there was certainly something to be said for silent mornings when he could sit alone in a room and contemplate as the city came to life around him while he broke his fast with a fine plate of eggs and hams and bread fresh from the oven. The teacup was merciless against the unblemished pads of his fingers, but Lord Hamilton brought it to his lips anyway, to blow at it as he appreciated the small things in life. There was no shortage of people who spent their days thinking of nothing but their affairs and their burdens. They did not stop in the middle of the street to smell the perfume of a flower sprouting from otherwise dreary bushes. They did not halt to observe as the clouds rolled and tumbled and gathered in a mighty force, different shades of blue and grey that collided with each other to form a powerful force – the contrary! Upon such an incident, people would double their speed, hunch deep in their threadbare jackets, turn their eyes to the soiled ground beneath their feet. They never knew what passionate encounter happened above their very heads, yet they complained that art was only for the rich.

As described, the clouds rolled in over London and took her in their misty embrace until it seemed dusk had come before its natural time. As always, Lord Hamilton was an eager observer from his secluded spot in the small breakfast room; his only concern was that of Lieutenant McGraw, when the skies started falling upon the dark and murky heads of the great city’s ever faithful inhabitants.

As it was, the good Lieutenant did not arrive until lunch, in a lucky spell of recess. Lord and Lady Hamilton had just settled when the young man was showed into the room by Daisy. He did, despite his genuine efforts, glance curiously around the room as if awed by the grandeur of it. It was endearing in its own way, as was the subtle unease that appeared on the Lieutenant’s face when he caught sight of the table and the persons behind it.

“I apologize, my Lord, I seem to have come at an inconvenient time, I’ll return later.” Already he was returning to where he came from, but Lord Hamilton would have none of it.

“Not at all, Lieutenant. Have you eaten?”

“Yes, my Lord.” However, something in the Lieutenant’s countenance alerted the Lord that he was not being entirely truthful.

“And when was that, if I may ask?” Lord Hamilton rose from his seat at the table and advanced as the Lieutenant’s unease mounted.

“At seven, my Lord. I had an extensive breakfast.”

“Oh, I do not doubt you, McGraw, but I don’t suppose you have been idle for all these hours. Dine with us, please – I beg you.” The Lieutenant agreed, though grudgingly. “And good afternoon, by the way. I hope that you are well.” Lord Hamilton offered his hand and the Lieutenant shook it firmly before being shown to his seat.

“And you, my Lord, my Lady.” Lord Hamilton left the room with a cheerful spring in his step and showed himself in the kitchens a moment later. “Daisy? There you are – would you be a dear and bring the Lieutenant –”

“’tis already on the way, sir!” someone called and the Lord thanked them genuinely, retuning presently to the dining room.

“Thomas, dear, your man refuses to tell me who it was he visited last Friday, and I find it quite vexing.” Lord Hamilton observed the mischievous look in his wife’s eye with rising concern.

“What are you, a spoiled girl? ‘tis none of your business.” When his wife opened her mouth again, preparing some protest, surely, Lord Hamilton interrupted her with a sharpness in his voice that was seldom employed, and certainly not towards her. “Ask the man one more time, Miranda, and I swear I might consider getting angry with you. Excuse my wife again, Lieutenant, I don’t know what has come over her. Do not let her force you in anything.”

A moment the room rested in silence; the Lieutenant clearly debated if an answer was expected. With an expression that was remarkably like the naughty one Lady Hamilton had just worn, his eyes caught hers over the table, and he spoke thus: “I would like to see her try.” Unaccustomed to such brazenness, Lady Hamilton gaped at him, while her husband laughed heartily.

“There, you see, my dear? Do not wage war on Navy men, they are of harder stuff than us, I’m afraid. You have chanced upon someone who might best you; lay down arms and pray for peace before he gives you an end much less merciful.”

“I did not mean –” The Lieutenant was interrupted by Lord Hamilton, who had started to wonder whether this need of his to steer a conversation and all the persons having it, was truly a sickness.

“Yes, you did. Lieutenant McGraw, this is the first and only time I will give you an order; I am not overly fond of them, in general, but sometimes it is not to be avoided. Speak freely when you are with us. I’m certain that you will observe, and might have already, that we speak freely with one another, Miranda and I, and if that is not extended to the one I am to work with so closely these next months, it would be entirely unfear, so please.” The Lieutenant agreed with only a small hesitation, no doubt because he saw the necessity of it, if he were to match Lady Hamilton’s challenges.

Lord Hamilton served himself then, followed swiftly by the others. He was pleased to see that the Lieutenant served himself several times, and ate his fill, although he did it like a wolf during the winter season, for reasons Lord Hamilton could not quite discern.

After some prodding, the Lieutenant told them of his latest voyage that he had returned from the very day before Lord Hamilton clapped eyes on him the first time, and the Hamiltons listened with equal interest. Lord Hamilton let his wife speak, this time, and was not disappointed when she asked for further explanations and details. Lady Hamilton’s intelligence was undeniably present in her every utterance once she set her mind to serious matters, and despite her ignorance on the subject – after McGraw’s explanations, she drew conclusions of her own that visibly impressed him, that in turn inspired great pride in her husband’s chest. 

Lord Hamilton had always found that she had a finer attention to detail than him, and although they were both analytical minds, while he was an expert at seeing and debating from all angles, she was more solution-oriented which made her often more effective than, and a great aid to him. Lord Hamilton thought that had she been a man she might’ve made a great scientist, and it pained him that she could not devote herself to the study.

The rain had begun again when the men retired to the study. Lord Hamilton was not fond of dark weather, but the candles Daisy had already lit for them had a strange effect on his companion’s hair. Already a striking shade of red, it came alive in the light of the many small _bougies_ and created quite the dramatic effect, as if the man himself was draped in fire. Lord Hamilton relaxed against the front of his desk and studied McGraw as he stood stiffly in the centre of the room. His position as an officer could not be questioned by any who saw him, even if he was doing nothing but standing still.

“There is a frightening downward trend concerning the revenues from the Bahama territories, as I’m sure you are well aware. Pirates are raiding the area mercilessly and as their successes early on were so astonishingly easy, they grew, and are still growing in number as we speak. They take everything valuable they can get their hands on, and the merchants have not the means to protect themselves properly. Either they surrender, never able to return to England for the shame of it, or they fight and die. The pirates are much greater in number, and sometimes they descend two at a time on a ship. The entire area is destabilised. This is our problem – my problem – because my father has put me to set things right. We want to do this as quickly, and with as little violence as possible. Nassau is our greatest concern, and it is where we must focus our attention.”

The Lieutenant did not hesitate to speak. “And we are to, what, rid all the seas of every person who seek to profit from it by asking nicely? Several times we and others have moved against the pirates, my Lord, and every time one is killed two knew are created. If it does not work with fear, how do you make these free men give up their only source of income – income that is not inconsiderable, by the way – and bow to someone but themselves, of their own will? They aren’t lorded over, they do not wish to be lorded over, and as we have failed several times to stop them, why should they give up when they are winning the fight?”

“Have you read the Holy Bible, Lieutenant?” Lord Hamilton turned his back to the man and placed himself by the windows, considering the dreary world outside. When he opened his mouth, the words fell effortlessly from his lips, as if rehearsed even though they were not; “And God said: let there be light, and then there was light, and He saw that it was good. And He separated the land from the water, and He called the water the seas. And He said let the sea bring forth life abundantly, and He blessed it, and He said that it was good. And He formed man of the dust of the ground and breathed life into his nostrils and man became a living soul and He beheld all He had created and He said it was very good. But the Lord beheld the man made in His likeness, and He beheld his solitude, and He said it is not good that he is alone. And the moral of the story? Everybody needs a partner.” The Bible, Lord Hamilton had always found, was balm to the soul and it had always been an aid to him when he wanted for certainty or direction, although he could not agree with all that was mentioned in it, nor many of the common interpretations of the texts. He considered himself a religious man, but he found it increasingly challenging to be a man of the church. However, the familiar comfort made him smile, and when he turned to face the doubtful Lieutenant, he caught him chuckling lightly at the suggestion. “You were the partner assigned to me in response to my father’s request by the Admiralty, but it would appear that even you believe this endeavour is doomed to fail.” The challenge was clear. Lord Hamilton seated himself to punctuate it.

“Beg your pardon my Lord, but I didn’t say that. I merely said that it would be wise for us to manage our expectations as to what’s achievable.” Lord Hamilton did not like the Lieutenant’s expression; if he wasn’t entirely mistaken, though he did admit that it might be his expectations clouding his judgement, there was pity to be found in the man. Lord Hamilton could not keep some irritation from washing over his features.

“And what is it you think is achievable?”

“Well sir, the pirate issue is a thorny one, but I believe that there are ways to –”

“Aside from the pirates.” Lord Hamilton seemed to be quite alone in his opinion that their focus should not be on the pirates themselves, not entirely. He looked to the Lieutenant now, in hope that he would understand. For now, he was met only with confusion.

“I’m sorry?”

“I don’t believe the pirates are the cause of Nassau’s problem, I believe they are a symptom.” There it was, the truth of it as Lord Hamilton saw it. He took in Lieutenant McGraw’s stiff posture, his firm jaws and hard face, and he wondered whether he would ever be able to convince such a man of his views. “The root causes are the ones that I would like to address first.”

“The root causes?”

“The graft of its governor, the incompetence of its managers, the neglect of its lords. The instability caused by these things is what draws the pirates to Nassau, not the other way around, so let’s begin there. What is it that you believe would truly return Nassau’s stable profitability?”

“You mean aside from removing the pirates?” Of course, he had not expected to be received with open arms when presenting his views, but to be questioned and doubted every step of the way, when he had considered the matter thoroughly in his mind and come to the conclusions that he had, was an unavoidable annoyance and a personal slight.

“Let’s leave them out for now, yes,” replied Lord Hamilton with a sigh.

He was glad, however, when the Lieutenant moved his focus to where Lord Hamilton had wanted it without more resistance. “What would it take?” He swayed gently as he looked around the room as if searching for the right answer, considering for a moment before he wet his lips and spoke; “Farmers, men skilled in the cultivation of sugar and tobacco, magistrates to maintain order, carpenters to raise buildings, clergy to raise spirits. Food stuffs to sustain them all for six months, perhaps a year. Three ships to transport it all, sailors to sail them. And an honest governor – the first in recent memory – to oversee it all. In short, you’d be assembling a colony, boarding it onto ships, transporting it across the Atlantic and hoping that when it arrives it takes to an environment that has resisted every attempt at stable commerce for the past fifty years.” The Lieutenant looked around the room again, as if to make sure that he was being clear when telling the Lord that he thought the idea impossible, a ridiculous fantasy at best. “Oh, and then there are the pirates that we’ve agreed not to discuss,” he said as an afterthought, and Lord Hamilton found himself being mocked. It did not matter, it was not an unusual reaction to his ideas. He pressed on with a nod and looked unwaveringly at the other man.

“Are you sure three ships would be enough?” Through the Lieutenant’s smile, Lord Hamilton saw poorly disguised exasperation.

The Lieutenant sighed, and when he spoke again, he did it like he would to a child. “My lord, I feel I have to be honest with you. I have grave doubts about whether something like this is realistic.”

It was endearing, in a way, and Lord Hamilton accepted the challenge this man and his views would bring. “Yes, I’ve gathered that.” His own smile stemmed, perhaps, from a certainty from within that assured him that the Lieutenant could be argued with, could accept what Lord Hamilton had to offer, once he saw the logic of it. Although, if his wife ever accused him of being impatient again, Lord Hamilton would tell her of this.

“If you wish to request a liaison more sympathetic to your views, I’m sure Admiral Hennessey would be happy to oblige.” Perhaps to assure the Lord that he was being honest, and that he would not take it as a personal slight, the Lieutenant fixed Lord Hamilton with his strong gaze and an easy smile that did not look at home on his face.

“The new world is a gift, Lieutenant, a sacred opportunity to right our wrongs and begin anew. And I do not want my family’s plot in it to be the reason for its fall.” The very idea made Lord Hamilton rise with agitation, and he advanced upon the Lieutenant whom he suspected underestimated him so. “I’m not looking for someone to hold my hand, I need someone who can help me ensure that Nassau survives. The stakes are too great for anything else.”

“And you suspect that I’m that person?” As always, the Lieutenant looked doubtful, but Lord Hamilton thought he had managed to convince the man of his genuine intent to succeed in this endeavour, no matter the challenges ahead. “Despite the fact that it’s clear that we view the world very differently?”

And here it was, the very point Lord Hamilton had been wanting to advocate. “Because of it!” he whispered with passion. “Strange pairs, Lieutenant, they can achieve the most” – Lord Hamilton had not realised how close he had come to the Lieutenant before his eyes fell to to the man’s lips and felt his breath ghost over his own face –“unexpected things.” Again, his fingers tingled. He curled them in reflex, before stepping back, and took a breath that was long seconds overdue.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins like fire. They could do this – they had to succeed in this, and the Lieutenant was exactly the help he needed, with his ever-present instinct to expect the worst everywhere he turned. How well it went with Lord Hamilton’s own blind trust! If they could not do this, surely it must be only in God’s own interest that they fail.

“It doesn’t matter –” the Lieutenant started with a breathless and slightly disbelieving quality to his voice. “Three ships will have to be enough, no one would agree to the cost of a forth as it is not entirely necessary.” Lord Hamilton turned and saw, at last, the determination he had wanted for in his partner’s features.

“Then, Lieutenant, let us commence.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let us commence indeed!
> 
> What are your thoughts on this chapter? Kudos and comments are always appreciated!
> 
> I kind of feel the need for a beta, except I've never worked with a beta before and I don't know how it's done, but if it sounds interesting to anyone, don't hesitate to... uhm... apply?? Eh, well. You know. *cringes at self*


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long road must have a start, Lord Hamilton and Lieutenant McGraw start the making of theirs.

“And carpenters, you said?” The scratching sound of Lord Hamilton’s quill filled the silence in the room and the shadows of its quick, twisting movements danced on the walls where it obscured the light from the candles. “And how many would we need to bring, do you think?”

“Two small teams should do, I suppose.” The quill stopped abruptly.

“Two teams? But, surely there must already be carpenters on the island; I don’t suppose the governor sleeps with the pirates on the beach. Why would we need to bring a ship-full of them? Wouldn’t it be more than sufficient to bring two or three senior carpenters and have them overlook the operations?”

“Certainly, if you want to rely on the men on that island, but I would not want to see this fall through because we failed to bring enough _carpenters_. It would be entirely humiliating.”

“And why, pray, should we _not_ rely on those capable men, if I may ask?” The Lieutenant shifted under Lord Hamilton’s stern gaze and rigid posture. He’d abandoned his quill to fold his hands on the table and better present an imposing figure.

“I believe that a good number of those capable men will need a certain amount of persuasion if they are to work with us, monetary and moral persuasion. Our carpenters might inspire them, when they observe their willing labour and agreeable payment, to stay on the island in place of getting on the first ship to escape out English hands. And either way –” the Lieutenant continued when it seemed the Lord was inclined to contradict him, “this list will surely have to be shortened two, three – perhaps even four times, before the cost can be considered acceptable; fewer carpenters might be the first priority. For now, we would benefit from an extensive list, so that we have clearly in front of us the ideal amount of men, instead of the very minimum. If we can lower the cost and the numbers later, it will only be to our benefit.”

“And can we expect no one person to be glad of our arrival?” The answering expression on the Lieutenant’s face was not encouraging.

“I find it best to assume the worst, my Lord, it is the only way we can avoid an unforeseen and dangerous setback. It is much better to be surprised in the opposite direction, and it might allow us to save some expenses, when we are on certain footing.” At the admission, Lord Hamilton felt oddly anxious to avert his eyes, as if he had observed something that was not meant for his eyes.

“Are you always this pessimistic, Lieutenant McGraw?” Privately, he reflected over what such a view of the world could do to man, but as he studied the dancing eyes across the desk he found it had not broken this one.

“It is not pessimism, sir, it’s realism.”

“Spoken like a true pessimist!” Lord Hamilton huffed, but could not hide a certain amount of delight at this person, so different from him; therefor he offered the man a smile and got a quirk of the lip in return. “Are they that scant in buildings then, Lieutenant?”

“There are plantations in the interior of the island, surrounded by a community of puritans – those, at least, will be glad when we arrive – one that could be greatly expanded. As for Nassau itself, there is already the necessary shops such as a butcher and other essential vendors, there is a tavern – although a second one could be beneficial, to avoid unhealthy interaction between our men and the inhabitants; we would not want their influence on our men and as they make up the majority, that would be more probable than the other way around. There are houses of course, but from what I can gather they are in poor condition and often housing two families under one roof. Then there’s the brothel. I’m afraid there is no room, however, to house our men upon arrival. Perhaps the carpenters should be on the first ship, together with the militia and the new Governor, to arrive some little time before the rest.”

“And send foodstuffs with them as the farmers will not have arrived yet – but in this case they would need more of it, lest they start relying on stolen wares and bring us back to point zero.”

“And at least one doctor must be brought on the first ship, in case of disease.” Lord Hamilton resisted the overwhelming urge to relieve himself of his wig and scratch his head, not unlike a dog. They had a long road to go, and they were still at the very beginning.

“Lieutenant, have you ever been to New Providence?” Lord Hamilton asked suddenly.

“No, sir.”

“I thought so. You seem to have very extensive knowledge of the island for someone who has never set foot there. Is there a thing you do not know of it? Perhaps the Governor’s secret lover is unknown to you?”

The Lieutenant snorted, a fine little thing, and replied; “I don’t think the Governor would feel a strong inclination to hide the existence of a lover in that place. But no, I don’t know all, I know only what I could gather from Admiral Hennessey and some merchant sailors who have been there.” Lord Hamilton doubted the Lieutenant understood that he had meant to praise him.

“And these sailors of yours, they specifically mentioned the brothel, did they?” Lord Hamilton asked mischievously. For a grown man, and such a well-travelled one at that, the Lieutenant was easily flustered.

“They are sailors, my Lord, we must forgive them for taking advantage of the reprieves they have; they are few and far between, with months together at sea.”

“You’re a sailor too, Lieutenant,” suggested Lord Hamilton with mirth that he could not hide. “What have you to say for yourself?” The utterly surprised and wavering expression that followed on the Lieutenant’s face was a comical sight. Later, Lord Hamilton would blame his boldness and his joy on the wine he had so freely served himself of. “Oh dear, that was not my place. Please excuse me, McGraw,” he exclaimed with a delighted smile.

“No, that was not your place, my Lord.” Someone who did not see the Lieutenant as he spoke in this way would think him gravely offended, but through the discomfort he found there, Lord Hamilton saw amusement in the man’s eyes as they met his, as clearly as he saw the flames of the candles.

“It must be the wine that has gone to my head. Perhaps we should conclude for the day. Here, does this sum up the men we would need?” The Lieutenant accepted the paper and scanned it intently for some moments.

“I believe so. You have an excellent hand, my Lord, very elegant.”

“To the chagrin of my old governess.” At the confusion on his partner’s face, Lord Hamilton elaborated. “I have an older sister. She’s married now, but when she was still at home, I would peer over her shoulder as she wrote her letters. She had such a beautiful hand, and I could only scrawl some incomprehensible squiggles at the time. I grew so jealous at her mastery that I refused outright any lesson that was not a writing lesson for – I think it must’ve been a month. I relented after a while, when she reassured me that I need only be patient. A month entire of math and biology followed, and I was barely allowed a quill in my hand.”

“Yes, it must’ve been quite horrible, to have forced upon oneself such a detailed and varied schooling.” A spell of silence followed the comment, heavily laden with the melancholy expressed by the Lieutenant. He was the one to break it, at last, just as Lord Hamilton thought he might succumb to the weight of it. “Your hard work has led to excellence, my Lord. Any jealousy toward your sister must be altogether unwarranted to-day.” Lord Hamilton couldn’t reply, for the intensity in the Lieutenant made him quite incapable of drawing breath. For long moments, he held that honest gaze as if it was something tangible yet fragile, like a spark just sprung to life, wavering dangerously but fighting for survival in an environment of limited means.

“Before you leave, Lieutenant,” spoke Lord Hamilton in a hoarse voice, but gathered himself as he surfaced from that spell while all the same saving the emotion in him as something to draw from on later occasions. “I have heard that you have quite the liking for books, not unlike myself. My personal favourites are in this room; inspect them, if you would like.” Together they rose and approached the shelves that covered the most part of the walls around them.

“And do you have many informants, sir?” Lord Hamilton replied but with a chuckle.

“I suppose you’ve read this. My _informant_ might’ve mentioned Homer.” With deft fingers, Lord Hamilton pulled the _Odyssey_ from the shelves and extended it towards the Lieutenant.

“I started it, some time ago. We were caught in bad weather, however, and my copy was damaged beyond repair. I did not have the means to acquire a new one at the time and sadly forgot.” The image was all too clear. Lord Hamilton could see in front of his inner eye as the man desperately tried to decipher the words on the ruined papers then mourned the loss because it was not one that could be replaced. It hurt all the more as he himself had such an extensive collection.

“Are you pressed for time?”

“My time is at your disposition, my Lord.” With the desk not keeping them at such a distance, the Lieutenant’s smile seemed a different thing entirely, not offered to some strange person in a matter of business, but a private smile that, although insecure, searched for some sort of common ground, or even companionship. It was a hopeful thing, a willingness to offer a hand despite the part that was uncertain of its reception. Lord Hamilton answered in the only way he knew how.

He brought them to the library, his most precious sanctuary. All four walls were lined with shelves that went all the way to the vaulted ceiling. Lord Hamilton had spared no expense in making the room comfortable and aggregable, and it was with the eagerness of a child that he observed the Lieutenant as he indulged himself, as he took the time to admire the room without reserve or restraint. With measured steps, he approached the nearest shelves, the ones not attached to the walls but surrounding the sitting space in the very centre of the room. He let his fingers play along the backs of the books gently and with reverence. The carpenter’s son must’ve never seen a private collection of books so large, and certainly not one so cared for and so handsomely decorated; for while Lord Hamilton preferred quality over beauty, he was in a position to care for both.

“This is magnificent, my Lord,” said the Lieutenant in a hushed voice, as someone would in a chapel.

“Here, take this.” Lord Hamilton had plucked another copy of the _Odyssey_ from the shelves, and this too was extended towards the Lieutenant, so visibly overwhelmed. It was not as fine as the other, but it had not yet been opened.

“No, I can’t –”

“As a gift. An offering, if you will, in hopes of a fruitful alliance and perhaps someone who will be willing to discuss it with me.” The Lieutenant tore his gaze from the book to meet that of Thomas Hamilton, and the gratitude there was one that could not be expressed in words. He reached for the book gently, but Lord Hamilton did not let go immediately. “And McGraw, you are very welcome to use my library when you please; I would love to share it with you; things like these, they should not be left to gather dust, they should be used and cared for. Some things are meant to be shared.”

“Thank you, sir. Thank you, that is very –” The breathy quality to the Lieutenant’s voice warmed Lord Hamilton deeply. It was strange, the satisfaction he could get by so simple a deed as making another happy. It was strange, how so simple a deed could be so significant to someone. And it required no sacrifice.

“Now go on with you, I’m sure you’re a busy man and I have kept you for too long.” The Lieutenant bid him goodbye and he was out in a rush with the book in the safety of his arms.

*

“I do believe I know where our Lieutenant was last Friday, it is not a hard nut to crack, if you think on it.” Lord Hamilton entered the sitting room where his wife was reading by the fireplace. The room was entirely dark save for that one bright flame. There was a glass of wine on the table, almost empty. Upon his arrival, Lady Hamilton put her book down.

“Oh? Will you tell me, then?”

“I’m sure you can gather it for yourself; you’re an intelligent woman.” Leaning casually against the mantle, Lord Hamilton smiled naughtily at his wife. She did not appear amused. “Consider his position, dear. The man had been at sea for weeks, months perhaps, and came back to London the day before I met him. Now, the first evening would surely be spent on the most pressing ship-matters, whatever they are. He would be too tired when night came to do anything but return to wherever it is he lives and go to sleep. The next day it wouldn’t be necessary to work long into the dark hours and it was the first time he has had to himself for a long period. What can he possibly be trembling so for, yet seem so embarrassed by?”

“No!” Lady Hamilton exclaimed. “No, really, Thomas! Do you think the Lieutenant –”

“He’s just a man, my dear.” Lady Hamilton laughed delightedly and her husband joined in her amusement.

“He is such a darling, Thomas.”

“Hm, you astonish me.” Rounding the chaise lounge, Lord Hamilton slid his arms around his wife and peered over her shoulder. “Better to reign in Hell, than to serve in Heaven. Milton again? You do love him so; I am almost jealous.”

“For no reason, come here.” Lady Hamilton turned her head and gave her husband a lasting kiss on the lips like only true love can. “Sit with me, tonight. I feel it is the last night we might be entirely at peace.”

“How so?” Retreating, Lord Hamilton found a book of his own and seated himself opposite the Lady.

“Nassau will steal you from me, like it has stolen so much else from so many people. Good men, bad men, sugar and tobacco; it has even stolen freedom for itself.” They sat in a comfortable silence for a long time, as they were wont to do in the evenings. There was a certain companionship in sitting together, even when nothing was said. They would read, and later they would tell each other of what they had read and how they had interpreted it, and their personal feelings on the subject. That was their common ground, that was their love for each other; the freedom of speech, the arguments over bad and evil and the way of things. It was when they could be entirely themselves, without reserve and without fear, for their trust in each other ran to the bones of their beings. Their minds met like the clashing of swords would during exercises between confidants, and it was how their hearts reached to one another, for their mutual love of the challenge they presented each other. They were the same, and they were different, the way lovers should. The way a husband should agree with his wife, and the way a wife should complement her husband.

After long hours on distant hills, Lord Hamilton resurfaced from his book and found the fire nearly dying. Lady Hamilton was still intensely focused and Lord Hamilton found it was how he loved her best. Not only was she made Divine in the vibrant colour of the fire, the blue of her dress turned to dancing waves at sea on a clear day, but her expression spoke of intelligence and a keen mind at work to decipher and meditate over Milton’s words. Her stature and her posture were regal, her features were soft and smooth, her hair was wild and tamed at the same time and he loved her so earnestly, so completely.

He did not stop admiring her until she closed her book softly and with a fond, contented little smile. “Is there anything more beautiful than books and a language so expertly handled?”

“It comes second only to you, my darling wife.”

“Always with the flattery,” she chastised. “Tell me something useful instead, tell me of the Lieutenant this afternoon.”

“How far into the night do you wish to sit here? He is a most peculiar man, Miranda. I can’t quite – wrap my head around him, I suppose. To be, on one hand such an active and driven man with interests in Naval warfare and the finer details of sword fighting, and on the other hand so fond of reading entirely by himself, quietly and for hours on end, it suggests a clear divide in personality, does it not?”

“Are you suggesting that all active men are stupid and that all the wise ones have no physical talent? I must contradict you, dear.”

“So, he just happens to be good at everything he does? That sounds entirely unfair, but I suppose I should be thankful. He is, after all, devoting that considerable and varied skill to my case. But –” putting the volume he was studying in his lap, Lord Hamilton considered before saying: “you didn’t see his expression when I told him he could use our library. You should think I had saved his undying soul from an eternity in the flames. And I have never seen someone so weary and distrusting when thinking of perfect strangers. We are so very different in nature.”

“Thomas, has it ever occurred to you that he might have had a very hard life?”

“Well, of course he has, considering where he comes from and where he is today, but –”

“No, that is not what I mean. Surely, if he is as you describe him, the world has been mean to him in other ways. Perhaps the reason he is so distrusting is because his trust has been violated, because he has been treated roughly for various reasons or none at all.” Lady Hamilton fell silent and her husband did not know what to say in response. His book lay forgotten in his lap. “I do not think he is a happy man,” Lady Hamilton said at last, and left her husband to his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally covnerted my sister to Black Sails, and she has only season 4 left! Which has sent me straight back to Silverflint hell. Jesus fuck, this show, people - it's everything. I'd die for this show. I love it. So. Much.
> 
> *begs you to pray for my sinner's soul as I lay back down in my grave and dies*


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lieutenant McGraw is a man not to be understood.

Ophelia returned from Padstow that Wednesday, evident by the taste of the tea Lord Hamilton was served by Daisy when he settled in after his speech at the boy’s home. Daisy was a sweet girl, but Ophelia had a knack for tea that could not be equalled.

“Well, sir, I s’pose it’s goodbye for us then.” Having entirely forgot that Ophelia’s return was the inevitable dismissal of her replacement, Lord Hamilton drew back in horror.

“That is entirely your decision. I’ve completely forgot to inform you that I could use another young spirit in the house. Our dear housekeeper will retire in some short years, I’m afraid. Already she is tired and in need of help. I would be greatly pleased if you were to stay with us, though for a modest salary, and be in training with her, to step into her shoes when she has finally had enough of me.”

“You want _me_ to take that position, milord?” So surprised was she that her heels were not touching the floor.

“If you have been an attentive student, I believe you will be more than capable, and as I said, our dear Mrs Reynolds could use the help already. She will teach you everything you need to know, have no fear.” Lord Hamilton himself felt rather giddy at the sight of Daisy’s excitement.

“Oh, no, I can’t - _me_ , milord, _I_ can’t do that, I’m simply –”

“Of course, you can, Daisy! I want you to take care of my home – would you be willing to take that not inconsiderable responsibility?” He had inquired with the rest of the household whether any of them had wanted the position, but they had declined. Some might be surprised, but Lord Hamilton has assured early on that the people of _his_ household received almost equal salary. Certainly, the ones with more responsibility should receive more, but the differences had been too great for him to handle with a good conscience. His staff was entirely content with his arrangement, or so he’d heard.

The young woman’s excitement could not be expressed in words, but although her smile was as pleasing as it was radiant, Lord Hamilton was rather relieved that she had managed to suppress her squeal and that there were no tears. The happiness was soon overshadowed, however.

“Oh, but milord – I told me fam’ly that I would be returning to them today! Can I go, just for a few days and then come back to ye, milord?” Lord Hamilton had expected as much, and reassured her that it would be of no consequence, so long as she returned before Monday next, something she gladly promised before leaving in a frenzied hurry.

“You truly are too kind, my Lord.” Turning, the man smiled at his wife and did not stop advancing on her until his nose was pressed to the hairline at her neck. She always smelled so sweet, and he liked the intimate privacy.

“Can one possibly be too kind?” asked he then, and held her.

“If it is to the detriment of one self, I believe so.”

“But if it ruins me, yet I am so happy to know that what I did was right, and that everything was to some poor or lost soul’s benefit, is it then too much? Can you do too much of something that brings you joy without fail? that brings you joy despite the difficulties you might find yourself in? If you know in your heart that it was right and that it was good, should you then regret it?” When he released her, he saw that they were not of one mind, which was so often the case in matters of this nature, but never had they argued heatedly and with malice, for Lady Hamilton looked at him that way she always did when he argued his philosophical views; with admiration and pride, as if he was all that was good in the world.

“Is the Lieutenant coming today?”

“Ah – yes. And I wanted to ask your opinion on something. I mulled it over yesterday for longer than I should’ve, for such a simple question. There’s the salon on Saturday, and I rather thought I should invite him. Of course, knowing what I know of him, I think it likely that he will refuse the request as kindly but firmly as he can – still, I would very much like him there. I don’t want to poke and nag and guilt him into coming, but do you think it would be worth it?”

“Thomas, in all honesty, I believe that whatever measures you decided to take, you can not – not even to save your own life – poke and nag and guilt that man into anything that he truly does not want. He is a stubborn one, and I do believe that he’s proud of it. No, you must seduce him with the idea. Show all its merits and in all the ways he will be wanted and welcomed. Show him that he wants to go. This is your forte, figure it out.”

“Mhm. Wouldn’t it be much easier if he was weak of mind?”

“Perhaps, although you would have no respect for him and would probably take all the responsibility upon yourself.”

A rapport had come in from the building of the school, and Lord Hamilton set himself to reading it and writing out a reply as he waited for the Lieutenant. The project was, so far, a success – considering how two main parties were constantly opposing each other – and they estimated that it would be ready to take students as early as January next year. 

Originally, Lord Hamilton had wanted to build a school that would be free of charge, an opportunity for anyone – even the poorest children – but it was not to be achieved for his father got word of the idea and had refused out of principal. What principal, Lord Hamilton was not sure, but it was one he did not hold himself to at any rate. Although he did admit that it would be a difficult thing – such a school would require continual financing from him and he did not have the means to maintain it. Instead, it was outfitted to be a school for unruly middle-class boys, or any others who could pay the small fees; fees that would only barely cover the costs. There would be no profit, but it would cost nothing save for the building process, in the end.

He called on Ophelia and was just signing the letter when another servant announced the arrival of Lieutenant McGraw. Having asked Ophelia to welcome him, Lord Hamilton sealed his letter and put the address on it, before following her to the entrance hall shortly. 

He had not expected to witness his servant throw her arms around the Lieutenant in the hall, but none the less, it was the picture before his very eyes – or else he would not have believed it.

“Ophelia?” Never had he heard the Lieutenant’s voice so thick and trembling, never had he imagined the man giving such an affectionate embrace; his arms were firmly around the woman’s waist and her feet were not touching the floor. Lord Hamilton was frozen and out of sight in the doorway.

“Dear God – Jenny, what are you doing here? How did you –”

“You know, if I ever hear you call me that again it’ll be the end of you.” Lieutenant McGraw set the woman on the ground again, and though his words were harsh, his voice held only fondness and perhaps some melancholy that had Lord Hamilton utterly perplexed. They did not let go of each other; Ophelia’s hands were caressing the Lieutenant’s cheeks intimately.

“Look at you, you’re not a young thing anymore! I can hardly call you Jenny with any reason now, can I?”

“It’s been a long time since I was that, you know. I’m sorry about your father.”

“And I about your gran.” The Lieutenant shrugged and stepped from her, seemingly gathering himself from the surprise. Lord Hamilton followed his example and entered the room as if he was ignorant of their exchange.

“McGraw, good afternoon. I see you’ve met dear Ophelia.” The easy smile on his face was one perfected long ago for those occasions when he knew not what else to do. It was a disarming smile, one that inspired trust and claimed innocence in all things.

“We, uh, we already know one another, my Lord; we grew up together in Padstow.”

“Indeed? How interesting, I did not know you were from those parts, Lieutenant. Well, if you would ever want a moment between yourselves, any of my rooms are at your disposition.”

“How kind of you, sir, but it must be for another time, I have disturbed you long enough.” Ophelia curtsied and grabbed the envelope Lord Hamilton gave her. She left presently, with only a gentle smile at the Lieutenant.

“A handsome woman, very professional and a personal favourite,” Lord Hamilton admitted.

“You didn’t see her as a child, my Lord. She had no older brothers, it left only me to fend off the boys – she was everyone’s favourite.” To himself, Lord Hamilton wondered whether he had done such a thing because he had wanted her for himself – perhaps they had been sweethearts – or, if that was not the case, why he had not pursued her like the others had.

“I can imagine. Now, what kind of ships would we need?”

“Well,” the Lieutenant mused, “ideally...”

Ideally was not, in any reality, something conceivable according to the Lieutenant, so they made three lists, each one less expensive than the last. Having done so, Lord Hamilton halted their discussion and proposed they should instead make a list of things they would need to make lists of, a list of any and everything that needed to be discussed, taken into consideration, and decided upon. No one would ever accuse him of not being thorough, and he prided himself on the fact, despite the Lieutenant’s amused smile.

It was dreary work, but Lord Hamilton was in great need of something tangible that represented all that needed to be done, something that let them cross over tasks done and ensured that nothing would be forgotten, as well as something that could be added to along the way.

And any how, it was made less unbearable by the company. Lieutenant McGraw’s quick mind reminded him in some ways of Lady Hamilton’s, and it was a treat to observe as it considered the great outlinings of their endeavour. He thought of things that had not crossed Lord Hamilton’s mind, and it worked the other way as well. Their priorities were vastly different, McGraw’s more fervently focused on safety and the military side of things, precautions that needs be taken, while Lord Hamilton’s were on how to create a profitable and trustworthy alliance, how to manoeuvre the political steps that needs taking, and how to do it all very politely.

Lord Hamilton delighted in the transaction, and it seemed that McGraw was enjoying himself too, although, Lord Hamilton suspected, at his expense. It did not bother him in the slightest.

“Saturday, McGraw, are you otherwise engaged?” asked Lord Hamilton when he had grown too tired of sitting.

“Not all day,” answered he, now somewhat suspicious, and with good reason at that.

“I am hosting a salon, here, in my rooms. A private gathering for men of what one might call radical opinions, but which is only a group of people wanting to adapt to the changes of our society; modern men. I would be very honoured if you were there. Wait – don’t interrupt me, please. I know you feel that you should not be there, that these men would not want you there, for your background, for your status. Some might say you do not belong in such a gathering, but I disagree. I will not expect you to take part in the discussions, only to – observe and find your own thoughts on the matters. Miranda will be there, she can keep you company. It will give you great insight into what it is that I want to achieve, not only for Nassau but also elsewhere, like here in London.”

“My Lord –”

“And if it is too uncomfortable, you can leave at any time. I do beg you to be there, for I would very much like to discuss with you privately, after the affair.” It took more convincing, but eventually, McGraw admitted to a certain interest, and Lord Hamilton knew that he had him.

When, finally, McGraw had left, Lord Hamilton rang the bell and Ophelia entered the room not long after.

“Sit down, please. Now, I would like for you to answer one simple question, and I would like for you to answer it truthfully or not at all.” Concerned though she looked, Ophelia agreed. “I overheard you and Lieutenant McGraw earlier, when he had just arrived. I might’ve been mistaken, but I thought I heard you call him Jenny. It seemed entirely unfitting, in my own estimation, though I suppose Jenny is not too different a name than James. Why would you call him Jenny? I am, admittedly, very confused.”

“I feared you might’ve heard. I would be very glad if you did not mention it to him, he’d be so mad at me.”

“I’ll consider it, if you answer my question.” Lord Hamilton was not deterred by her hesitance.

“James and Jenny McGraw. He was two years older, but I never saw such an identical pair. The father often mistook them for each other. It was the mother that cut their hair and she didn’t mind how they looked; she cut them both identically. One time the father called for James, who was playing in the street with some of us, and he called him Jenny, thinking it was her. It stuck after that; he was Jenny and she was James.”

“What, and he didn’t complain?”

“I answered your question, my Lord, I don’t think he would want me telling you more. Please excuse me.” Ophelia retreated before Lord Hamilton had given her leave.

Upon the closing of the door, Lord Hamilton relaxed against the back of his chair and rested there with closed eyes and arms limp on the table in front of him.

He was entirely too curious about Lieutenant James McGraw, and it seemed the more he learned of the man, the more of a mystery he was. He could not, for the life of him, imagine him as a lad and responding to a girl’s name; he seemed much too proud for such a thing, much too aware of the implications. Lord Hamilton had heard of the existence of male prostitutes, and that they often went by female names, and although this had been nothing but to the amusement of children, it seemed something that the James McGraw he knew would distance himself from, even at that age and even if it were only for play.

He resolved not to tell his wife about this development, even if she was more likely to bring some sort of understanding. Ophelia had already suggested that McGraw would be less than pleased that he knew, and his own desire for trust and privacy held him from sharing the information despite his escalating eagerness to do so. Although he did wonder about it, privately, and even when he was not actively doing it, the matter was not far from his mind and he always found his way back to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to post this on Friday but I wasn't entirely satisfied and I went hiking this weekend (which was awesome). I still feel like something might be missing, I just don't really know what... it's a bit short but I hope you enjoyed anyway!
> 
> Your thoughts are always very encouraging, I love to hear from you!
> 
> One specific question, do I repeat myself a lot, when Thomas is kind of comparing himself to James and how they think and stuff like that?
> 
> Constructive criticism is always welcomed! :)


	7. Chapter Seven

Slowly but surely, winter made way for spring. Most of the time, clouds lay pregnant with rain over the city, but the temperature was rising. Lord Hamilton's patience with his wig diminished as it went from something comfortably warm, to something uncomfortably sweaty on the more sunny days, even despite the wind.

The House of Lords was again in an uproar over the Regency Act. Baron John Somers and his Whig Junto had already conceived the Act to ensure that in the event of the Queen's death, only a protestant could succeed to the throne. After a long day of discussion, Lord Hamilton was irritable upon returning to his home, and hearing of a visitor's presence in his house was the last thing he had been hoping for.

With more negative energy than was his wont, he strode to the drawing room, and started talking even before he had entered it.

"I would be very pleased if you were to tell me, quite rapidly, why you are here and what it is you need from me, so that we can conclude our business in the next ten minutes and - Oh, Lieutenant, I'm so sorry, I had no idea that it was you." Like a spooked animal, McGraw had jumped from his chaise and stood, looking quite guilty.

"I'm very sorry, my Lord, I should not have stayed when you were not here, but Lady Hamilton ensured me that it was no trouble. Please, excuse me. It is nothing important, I will be on my way this instance." From the settee, Lady Hamilton gave her husband a look of such indignation that her husband was immediately burdened with a bad conscience, although that was not why he stopped the Lieutenant when he was going to leave.

"No, no - I'm afraid that it is me who should ask for forgiveness. Please let me explain myself, at least, before you decide to go. I've had a very taxing day, and thought that you were some - other person, who would ask a service of me and I am decidedly not in the mood. However, if you are interested on intel about the life of a Lord in Parliament, sit down again and I will tell you all. In truth, I would very much like you to stay." Knowing that he looked drawn and tired, Lord Hamilton fixed McGraw's attention on himself, hoping that he would inspire some pity in the man, enough that he complied with his request. It seemed he was in luck, for the Lieutenant sat himself down.

Leaning his hands on his wife's shoulders, Lord Hamilton apologised for his heated temper and squeezed her affectionately but rapidly, then seated himself opposite her.

"You have no idea the things people deem important to discuss. Nothing, and I do indeed say nothing, can be decided upon immediately, everyone must have their say, although their meaning is the exact one the person before them expressed, and usually very little is _actually_ changed at the end of it all, but discuss we must. Of course, the Regency Act is generally agreed upon, but the spectacle they can make of things! I express my opinion on the relative idiocy of the Act, and immediately some _Whig Junto_ friend of _Baron John Somers_ screams traitor, going so far as calling me a Catholic and suggesting my retirement! I mean, what does it matter if it is a Protestant or a Catholic on the throne? What difference does it make? They have the same Faith and the same principals! You should think they were afraid of hedonistic sacrifices and becoming one with France, leaving all the power to dear Louis!" Stopping for breath, at last, Lord Hamilton didn't overlook the exasperation and amusement shared by his wife towards the Lieutenant, who seemed to harbour the same emotions. He sunk into the pillows at his back and drank deeply from the wine that had been served him at some point during his monologue.

"Referring to a King by his first name and that only; Thomas, you should be careful or they might think you _do_ want it. Now, will you please explain to us what the matter is?" Lady Hamilton said patiently.

"I'm simply against an Act that deepens the already clear divide in our country, between the Protestants and the Catholics. It inspires even more tension and bad feeling between brothers and it is in no way beneficial. I have expressed my entirely reasonable point of view many times, but most of them are so enraptured by Somers' blasted charm that no one listens to me. There are much more serious and pressing matters to attend to, and too much time is being wasted. It is very frustrating and Peter has been absent for much too long. Thank God he is returning as we speak."

"If I have understood you correctly, you are currently not getting enough support because this Baron has more _charm_ than you?" McGraw inquired. "Somehow, I find myself rather surprised," he admitted, and looked entirely too sincere from his high-backed chair, looking for all the world as if he was some judge on high.

"To my defence, I'm not completely ignored. Lord Philpott and a good number of his people agree with me, but Lord Wharton is stubborn and dedicated and has many friends. It is he that talks, for the most part, but everyone knows the Baron, and he is there to show his face and his appreciation when men speak for him."

"I still don't understand. Who are these men that are supposedly more charming than you? You're the most charming person I've ever met, and not just to those that might be of use to you, but everyone that you see - even strangers on the street!" And Lord Hamilton thought to himself that McGraw certainly didn't lack that charm himself.

"Thank you," said he, and found himself awfully flustered, "but charm is not enough when so many of them remember all too well what happened during the Glorious Revolution. The Baron's charm permits him to convince the people that originally agree with me to start trickling to his side, whereas my charm is nothing to their deep-rooted fear of conflict." He did not mean to sound so tired, but the pitiful looks received were saying enough.

"It is funny, I had thought you a fierce Protestant, my Lord."

"Oh, I am. Well, I mean, I'm not a Catholic. I prefer not to throw my lot with any of them, and rely on my own understanding of the Bible and what faith should be." Silence ensued after the admission, but it was not uncomfortable. McGraw looked deep in thought as he studied Lord Hamilton boldly, as if he had received allowance that he had not had before.

Lord Hamilton very much appreciated McGraw's reserve and his propriety when regarding his own curiosity. Lord Hamilton knew of his own reputation, and McGraw's interest towards him had been made clear on several occasions, but he had never acted upon the sentiment, and was always entirely respectful. His gratefulness, Lord Hamilton knew, stemmed from his own strong need for privacy regarding his personal life and often his affairs, and McGraw had permitted him that without question, as most would, but also without attempting to violate that privacy by judging and trying for himself to gauge something from the silly Lord Hamilton, as many people had tried before.

Now, however, something seemed to have changed. McGraw's gaze was brazen and open and searching, and the feeling that overtook Lord Hamilton when he met those eyes, so flaming, so intense in the changing light of the fire, was a sort of nervous excitement that had never bothered him before. He was uncertain of what McGraw might do after closer inspection - he found himself oddly caring of how the man regarded him - and that uncertainty was slowly becoming something tangible and perturbing beneath his rib bones.

"Don't you suppose such an Act will go through anyway?" Lady Hamilton finally inquired. "By your own admission, too much time is being wasted - would it not be wiser of you to not fight it, so that the matter might be over and the focus might change to something you deem more worthy of attention?" Lord Hamilton had expected as much, and could not argue with the reasonableness of her statement, but he was not happy with it.

"I know, but it bothers me to ignore my principles, especially in such matters. But it is too late now, any how." Being suddenly tired of the conversation, Lord Hamilton looked dismissively around the room. There were bookcases here too, but not so imposing as those in his private study. Miranda's favourites were gathered here, for she preferred to read in the chaise lounge in front of the grand fireplace. It was an intricate piece of work, that, and it was done in good taste also, which was not always the case, for so many thought quantity more important than quality; the more decoration, the better. "And how were you amusing each other before I arrived? I hope I did not keep you waiting too long, McGraw, but if I did, it was quite unwittingly."

"Not at all, my Lord," McGraw ensured with a cordial nod and a tentative smile in Lady Hamilton's direction that rang strikingly honest. It was not often that the man smiled, but Lord Hamilton found himself quite enraptured when he did, for it softened his features and gave the impression of kindness in him that was quite hidden on the Navy man's face.

"We were getting to know each other. Did you know that the Lieutenant very much enjoyed Paradise Lost?" Lady Hamilton's expression was entirely too smug, but her husband had always been hopelessly under her spell and could nothing but admire her.

"Mhm, your wife has excellent taste, my Lord, but it is not why I came. I finished the _Odyssey_ and passed here on my way home. I thought I might come by in case you had time to discuss it, as you said you wanted, but I see now that you are tired and surely wanting to be left alone; we will discuss it another time." Rising again from his chair and striking an imposing figure from that angle, for he was a very broad-chested man, looking as strong of body as he was of will, Lieutenant McGraw made to leave the room.

"Not so fast, McGraw! You have just offered to brighten my day considerably, do not leave unless your intention was to bring hope and take it away for play!" Lord Hamilton exclaimed with a gleeful smile. McGraw's lips twitched upward in return, and he seated himself again.

"I brought the copy you gave me; here."

"Indeed, you did - oh, wonderful, you have marked the passages that you enjoyed, I presume. I do like your choice of ribbon; do you have an endless supply?" Lord Hamilton turned the book in his hands and admired it. Already McGraw's personal touch marked the book, discreet though it was. "May I?" he inquired, and opened the book with permission. At once he sought out his own favourite passage, and saw that McGraw had marked it too. "Yes, here it is. What do you say, Lieutenant? Shall we start from here? It has truly been too long since I last visited this place. Miranda, would you be a darling and read this for us?" Lord Hamilton gave her the book, open on the correct page, and sat himself down again. "Will you scoot yourself a bit closer, McGraw? Perfect. And do you mind if I make myself more comfortable?"

"It is your home, my Lord, it would hardly be right of me to stop you." So Lord Hamilton relaxed his posture and divested himself of the wig at last. He closed his eyes as cool air enveloped his head, and ran his fingers through his hair - thick with sweat though it was - in hopes that it would cool more rapidly.

When he opened his eyes again, McGraw was looking at him as if it was the very first time, tense in his seat but not uncomfortable.

"What is it?" Lord Hamilton murmured. The reply did not come at once; McGraw shifted in his seat and cleared his throat.

"You look different, my Lord. Excuse me, I shouldn't -"

"Yes, less imposing and haughty, I suppose."

"No, well yes, but - I've found that wigs are not always flattering on young men," the Lieutenant admitted.

"I'm not a young man anymore," Lord Hamilton said and looked searchingly at the curious Lieutenant.

"You're certainly not an old one!"

"No, I suppose you're right. Are you suggesting that I should not wear wigs then, for the sake of my own vanity?" Lord Hamilton asked with humour.

"Yes, I do believe he is, and he is quite right; I have been trying to advocate the sentiment for years!" Lady Hamilton added, and shared a fond smile with the Lieutenant. "Now, will you stay silent so that I might read for you?"

The woman started reading; her soft and full voice like thick honey filling the room. She read with a calm steadiness that soothed Lord Hamilton's aches and annoyances. The words so melodic and poetic took him from this place and to their world. For moments he was entranced by the movements of his wife's full lips as they wrapped around those words and put her own personal touch to them. It was a beautiful touch; Lord Hamilton truly loved it.

Then his eyes strayed from her and when he saw the Lieutenant, the man was already looking at him and he was smiling kindly. They listened together, and Lord Hamilton lost all sense of time and surroundings. He saw in McGraw's eyes that they were not strangers anymore, and the trust it would surely come to entail would be given freely by both parties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the wait!
> 
> I started a chapter and wrote about half, then I realised it would be better if I put one between that and the last one, so I had to start again, but at least the next chapter is already started and should be up earlier than usual!
> 
> The Regency Act passed in 1705 to ensure a protestant on the throne, and was created by the Whigh Junto, mostly by John Somers. It was Lord Wharton that got it through Parliament and I had really fun doing research and using it for my story :)
> 
> What happened during the Glorious Revolution was that english parlimentarians united with the Dutch to overthrow King James II.
> 
> 'Dear Louis', as Thomas says, is of course Louis XIV, King of France at the time and earlier during the Glorious Revolution (1688-1689) the Dutch feared a Catholic alliance between England and France, and went so far as to plan a military intervention in England.
> 
> Thomas was being called traitor and Catholic because at the time there was a lot of religious tension and Catholics were denied the right to vote and sit in the Westminster Parliament, among other things.
> 
> It is a bit confusing, don't use me to write your essay for school :) :)
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading, and thank you to all who has commented because it is so motivating and makes posting a lot less scary! :) Also, constructive criticism is always greatly appreciated!


	8. Chapter Eight

Already, the room was alive with conversation. The days were getting longer and they still had some daylight to brighten the rooms, but the candles were in place for when they were needed, for Lord Hamilton had great hopes that it would be a very long evening. There was food and drink in abundance, the adjoining doors leading to the library and the second drawing room were open and inviting should anyone want a more private discussion.

Lord Hamilton was in conversation with Lord Philpott when the Lieutenant stepped into the room as discreetly as a man such as he could. He kept to the walls, and although some conversations halted for a second, they soon resumed and he was not engaged. Lord Hamilton caught his eyes and nodded his approval, but did not approach him. Such a display of intimacy, for he had not greeted all as they arrived, would only bring scrutiny to the Lieutenant, and Lord Hamilton knew that it would not be welcome.

"Do you see the man by the bookshelves in the far corner?" Lord Hamilton inquired of his partner, who turned his attention that way and nodded. "James McGraw, my liaison to the Admiralty."

"Ah, yes. You mentioned that you were in need of one such individual. What does he do, exactly?" Lord Philpott drew his brows together and inspected the other man from a distance. McGraw had not noticed the attention that was now on him, and preferred scanning the books with critical eyebrows and poorly disguised curiosity.

"Without the Navy we have no chance of getting control of that place, I need him to give me a picture of what I can expect from them and what they will expect from me in return. He helps me device a plan that will be accepted by his superiors. Where I don't know anything, he is a well of useful information. A fine specimen, if I may say so myself, in every regard." Lord Philpott laughed knowingly.

"You haven't been able to sway him an inch, have you? I know these Navy men, Thomas, you can't win this."

"Not an inch." Lord Hamilton grinned to his companion's amusement. "Although I consider it a small victory in itself that he came here today. He's not shy, but I do believe he dislikes everyone he doesn't know, and even more so most of the people that he does know. Another victory – he has not yet abandoned me or given any sign of contempt towards me."

"If those are your only victories after, what, two weeks almost? I don't hold much hope for you."

"You're almost as bad as him with your pessimism. Go find Peter, I need to make myself visible for a while. I'm expecting more important people than you, Nathaniel." With a friendly wink, Lord Hamilton disappeared into the loud mass of respectable men in the middle of the room, and left his companion behind with a fond smile, the reaction Lord Hamilton so often brought forth in those that knew him.

*

From the reply, Lord Hamilton knew that his special guest would be arriving between eight and eight thirty, so a quarter of an hour before that time, he first approached the Lieutenant and thanked him heartily for attending. A while he spent pointing out certain guests, recounting their name and station, his own relationship with them, their general opinions and where they came from. The Lieutenant listened carefully, but talked little and always made sure that Lord Hamilton was between him and the rest of the room.

"They won't bite if you stay and listen; Mr George almost never speaks, but everyone seems to look to him for approval after voicing their opinion. If you would rather not, you are very welcome to stay by me throughout the evening, and I will not try and force an opinion out of you if you will not give it freely. And in case –" Lord Hamilton's voice died along with the chatter of the room and he turned to see what the matter was. It was Lady Hamilton, having entered the room in her most beautiful evening dress. It was in the same deep blue as his own costume and she looked nothing short of radiant in it.

For a second her eyes scanned the crowd before settling on her husband's, and she inclined her head to him before letting herself be swallowed by the room.

"Will you not go to her?" McGraw inquired curiously as Lord Hamilton returned his attention to him.

"Oh no, she is quite capable on her own, I would not wish to disturb her." The Lieutenant's eyebrows raised to his hairline, part surprise and part scandal. It was not conventional; Lord Hamilton understood his confusion, but the day he let himself be guided by what was conventional, that was the day he would lay down arms and leave this place for the shame of it, so he kept talking to his servants and letting his wife loose on unsuspecting men. "She has much to discuss, and many people to discuss it with. Surely it would be too tiresome for her if mine were the only opinions and arguments she could challenge, take apart, and counter." McGraw did not know how to respond. "I'm expecting a new face today, and whatever you do the rest of the evening, I would very much appreciate it if you would come to me when I speak with him, at least for some minutes. I have a feeling you might enjoy it." The Lieutenant nodded though wearily, and Lord Hamilton approached his wife in the crowd without him.

"Darling, when is your special guest coming? It's all around the room, and I feel quite betrayed that you haven't even told me who he is. Is that any way to treat one's wife?" Lady Hamilton had been in conversation with Andrew Tooke, a geometry professor who had been chosen a Fellow of the Royal Society November last, a man who said little but knew a lot, or that was how Lord Hamilton knew him. He had come to his salons some few times, but Lord Hamilton knew little of his opinions, just that Lady Hamilton quite enjoyed his talk of the basic mathematics. Lady Hamilton herself had never formally learned, of course, but when they married Lord Hamilton had taken it upon himself to arrange a private teacher for her, as it was not long before she knew all that he knew and understood it better.

"Soon enough. Be patient, darling." She swayed into him gently, and Professor Tooke excused himself with reddened cheeks.

"I believe he was flirting with me," Lady Hamilton admitted with a hushed voice and a delighted expression.

"How so? By telling you that one plus one equals two together in a bed?" Lady Hamilton snorted an unattractive laugh.

"My God, Thomas – you are truly terrible and should you ever say anything like that again I'll go drown myself in a wine bottle. Your humour is dry as you father's skin!" Lord Hamilton loved it when she was like that; it was a true expression of how endearing she found his awkwardness.

"I regret engaging you already; don't talk of my father when it is not absolutely necessary, it hurts my ears and my brain, and I think it might make me stupider. There, you see – already I'm inventing words. No, I came on business much more pleasing to the eye. Would you help me look after McGraw from time to time? He looks scared." Looking over, Lady Hamilton quite agreed; McGraw had been approached by some friend of Lord Philpott's since Lord Hamilton had left him, and looked inclined to become one with the bookshelf.

"I think I'll save him right away. Enjoy yourself tonight."

Lord Philpott returned to Lord Hamilton's side once his wife had departed, and informed him that their mutual friend, Lord Peter Ashe, had been called away to some business matter that could not wait, and wouldn't join them that evening.

"Are you spying on my man, Nathaniel?" Lord Hamilton asked with a knowing smile, and the accused raised his shoulders innocently. Before Lord Philpott could reply in any other way, Lord Hamilton's eye caught a stranger in the doorway, a rather peculiar stranger. No one else had seemed to notice him, despite the turban-like cloth that formed a tall sort of hat on top of his otherwise bald and round head. He was particularly pale of complexion, as if he didn't see much sunlight – though that was not surprising as they were just laying several months of a cold and dark winter behind them – but he scanned the room with intelligent eyes.

"There he is." Lord Hamilton left as if Lord Philpott was entirely forgotten. "Dr. Arbuthnot, welcome. I'm honoured that you would join us this evening."

"Lord Thomas Hamilton, it is nice to finally meet you. I have heard of you through Andrew. Tooke, that is. He has made me quite... curious as to who you are." For such a formidable man, or so Lord Hamilton had heard, he was reserved – in that his voice was low and his physicality modest. As they entered the room together, Lord Hamilton registered a certain waddling in his gait that did nothing to make the overall peculiar-looking man any less so.

"I'm glad that you have come to see for yourself; what is said about me is not, for the most part, flattery." Lord Hamilton was well aware of the fact, and did not hide it, but chose to let himself be ridiculed and also ridiculed himself, before doing his very best to show every single one that he could not be so easily dismissed.

"No, it is not," Dr. Arbuthnot admitted in his strong Scottish accent.

"I wanted to congratulate you on your newfound position in Court, Dr Arbuthnot. Physician extraordinary to the Queen! Very impressive, though I suppose it is well merited, after your successful treatment of Prince George some years ago and as a Fellow of the Royal Society. It must be there that Andrew has talked of me, or else I can't fathom where you've heard of me." Walking side by side through the room as they spoke, Lord Hamilton saw the servants beginning to light the candles and the conversations around him halted until they had passed.

Presently, Professor Tooke and Lord Philpott joined them. The Fellows greeted each other as one would expect from acquaintances and Lord Philpott was introduced to the Doctor, his eyes glinting with interest as he nodded his approval in Lord Hamilton's direction.

"Now, what is this I hear of Nassau and a devil for a partner, Thomas?" the professor inquired.

"It seems he is on his way as we speak, Andrew, though I would not call him a devil." Indeed, McGraw and Lady Hamilton were approaching them, one excited and the other cautious and serious.

"Am I the only one you are formal with? And I thought you were one for equal treatment of all, Lord Hamilton!" Although his face and voice were stern, Dr Arbuthnot managed to express some amusement in another way; through that expressive pair of eyes.

"Pardon me, I was only being courteous, but I will call you John if you so wish." Just then the pair arrived, and by Lady Hamilton's ministrations, they flanked her husband like some private guards, or so he felt.

"Please, allow me to introduce my wife, Lady Miranda Hamilton. And this is Lieutenant McGraw, who is, for the time being, my liaison to the Admiralty when working to save the Bahamas Islands and the commerce in the area."

"A man of the Royal Navy," Dr Arbuthnot started, and Lord Hamilton felt, if not saw, McGraw stiffen at his side, "I admit, I have always admired the orderly system of rank and the relentless protection of Queen and country. It is a most noble pursuit." Rocking onto his heels, McGraw thanked the physician with the barest hint of heated cheeks. "Now, I've heard that you're a well read man, Thomas – may I call you Thomas? – a modern man. My good friend, Jonathan – Swift, that is – has just last year published _A tale of a tub_ , and I thought you might've read it."

Upon hearing the name, one individual in the group beside them snorted a; "profane! Attacking the Church, spotting the Holy Bible! This John Nutt should be cast out!" Immediately, the Doctor's face twisted and his hands clenched when he turned to the man.

"I see you have completely misunderstood the entirety of the meaning, and if you so wish, I will explain it in great detail to you – but on a later occasion. If you decide to be stubborn, please remove yourself from my vicinity immediately." The man grunted, but went when Lord Hamilton set his eyes on him. Silence ensued until someone whistled and careful chuckles spread in their circle.

"I have read it. I found it very entertaining indeed, though I dare say he is bold."

"Of course, but is it not necessary? What did you think of _The Battle of the Books_? Glorious, is it not? I admire how he managed to make it so entertaining and so educational all at once; is that not what learning should be? Forget your dusty old professors and moaning over scribbles that are centuries old; for this, gentlemen, is the new way of learning." Feeble though he seemed, Dr Arbuthnot was ablaze with excitement and all seemed to be startled and amused by it.

"Surely it is not all bad," Lord Hamilton countered with a smile. "I had a professor that I still visit some times, though he is old now, and just the other day he suggested that women should have better opportunity for education, like their brothers and husbands."

"Ah, but is that enough? What about the masses, Thomas!" And here Lord Hamilton's hand lifted and he held the Lieutenant gently by the elbow to catch his attention. His hand rested there comfortably, as Dr Arbuthnot continued. "Is it to be endured that our people are so uneducated? so superstitious? It is dangerous – for what when their minds go wild together, only encouraged by the heavy hand of religion, and they hang innocent people for witchcraft? Do you know what happened in Salem in '92? Mass hysteria that could not be tamed before women were hanged and children died in prison! It cannot be accepted, and the only way to free their minds is by imposing upon them an education based on facts that makes such things impossible!" Lord Hamilton squeezed tighter, and McGraw pressed his elbow against himself in acknowledgement.

"I very much agree, and not only would it expel such childish notions, but it would also be a great opportunity for intelligent people – may they be poor or rich – to apply their wits to the greater good for us all. A carpenter can be just as sharp as a Lord, given the opportunity." Then the conversation turned to the difficulties of such instalments, and McGraw seemed to lose interest, for he slipped away from Lord Hamilton's light touch and was gone.

Dr Arbuthnot soon engaged someone else and Lord Hamilton regarded the crowd for a moment before stepping into it and letting it swallow him.

*

Throughout the evening he flitted from conversation to conversation like a butterfly between flowers. He was asked questions and opinions regarding the homeless and the poor and the hospitals and the Church. Everyone wanted his opinion and everyone smiled their sweet smiles at him and he knew the false ones from the true, but never let on. Mr. Kresinger, for example, was new in their circles. From luck and that only he had found a place among their ranks, rising from a dubious past that no one truly knew. He saw Lord Hamilton only as a means to further secure his place among people that would never accept him unless he had important friends, and Lord Hamilton knew that he cared nothing for those starving on the streets, but he hoped – maybe, just maybe he might find some true goodness in him yet.

So he talked with everyone, because he wanted to, and he thought he might never stop once he threw himself into a long monologue on the free man that made several conversations around them halt until he had half the room's attention, and people praised him when he finished and they smiled and he smiled back even as he regained his breath, and then he looked up and saw Lieutenant McGraw, casually leaning against the wall in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest and an impressed smile upon his face.

From then he kept an eye on the Lieutenant, even though he did not approach him, and was happy to see that with Lady Hamilton's company, he took part of discussions too.

*

Eventually, when the candles were burned low and the sky was black outside the windows, people started to trickle out with nods of approval and thank you's directed at the host. Even McGraw tried to leave, but let himself be persuaded to stay, just a little while longer.

When the rooms were empty of guests and the silence turned oppressive after a night full of sound, McGraw reluctantly readied himself for departure, for, he said, it would not do to wander through the streets on his way home past midnight. Slipping her arm through his, Lady Hamilton turned him and walked him to the second drawing room instead, assuring him that they would send him home in a carriage. Lord Hamilton followed after them, and threw his wig to the right and his coat to the left before he sank into a settee some ways away from the fire and kicked off his shoes. He was warm and comfortable and the room spun only when he closed his eyes.

"Oh, take off that jacket for once, James, you look about to brave a Norwegian winter. Not quite a Russian one, but a Norwegian one." So James smiled, stumbled a bit, and removed the jacket and his cutlass before he sunk down beside Lord Hamilton. His easiness spoke more of his intoxication than his little stumble did.

Lady Hamilton was in high spirits and would not sit down. She glowed as she paced excitedly in front of the men. "Did you hear what Andrew Tooke said about the slave trade? You can never trust a mathematician to say anything clever about politics!"

"Oh, and did you see the way Philpott's cousin eyed James like he was spread out for dessert!" The Lieutenant blushed furiously and opened his mouth to counter, but Lady Hamilton beat him to it.

"Just her?! Every lady in that room turned into a hyena when they saw him! You lost all their attention tonight, Thomas!"

"And how about _you_ my dear, did I lose your attention too?" McGraw choked on his whiskey and Lady Hamilton laughed delightedly as her husband patted the man's back, not doing much to help the coughing, but it was nice anyway.

"Then there's _Lady Sabrina Olivia D'Argent_." Lady Hamilton straightened and scrunched her face in an impressive imitation of the Lady in question. "Oh, Miranda! That is _such_ a beautiful dress, where _did_ you get it? I simply _must_ find that tailor! He-he-he!" Lord Hamilton pretended to be sick. McGraw howled in laughter, and then Lady Hamilton plumped into her husband's lap, and all of a sudden they were all too close. Lord Hamilton's mind swam with the scent of his wife's perfume and his face heated in embarrassment for the Lieutenant, who, surprisingly, simply smiled fondly at them and relaxed against the back of the settee.

"You're better than all of them together, both of you," James said.

McGraw stayed for much longer than he had planned to, and struggled horribly when slipping into his coat, but it was done, eventually, and the Hamiltons leaned heavily on each other when they followed him to the door and waved as he climbed into their carriage and headed home alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we might be getting somewhere now!
> 
> Andrew Tooke was a real geometry professor at the time, and actually held the meetings for the fellows of the Royal Society in his chambers.
> 
> John Arbuthnot is also real and I took his description from the picture his wikipedia page. He was a Tory (a political philosophy that was based on traditionalism and conservatism) and I tried my best to make his opinions compatible with that and other stuff that I found about him (like wanting to free the mind from superstition). Yes, he knew Jonathan Swift (even inspired _Gulliver's Travels_ book III) and treated Prince George and knew Isaac Newton (which I just mention because I find it cool).
> 
> Jonathan Swift published _A tale of a tub_ under the name John Nutt, in case the name change confused you.
> 
> I don't know Arbuthnot's thoughts on _A tale of a tub_ , and I don't know his relationship to Andrew Tooke - I take artistic liberties, please forgive me.
> 
> Also, witches, Salem, 1692-1693, it happened. I'm glad I could put that in there, school seems to have payed off.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! :D


	9. Chapter Nine

The following days were quiet and with no word from McGraw. They finally saw an end to the pointless arguments concerning the Regency Act and Lord Hamilton allowed himself to slow down and breathe, accompanying his wife on friendly visits, walking with Peter Ashe and his daughter in their gardens where the girl held their hands and begged to be swung in the air between them. Lord Hamilton seldom saw his friend as soft as when he was with his girl, and it made him happy.

Tuesday, he expected McGraw again, and awaited the time with nervous excitement. Great progress had been made, on a personal level, last time they'd seen each other, as, in that company, McGraw had been compelled to use Lord Hamilton's Christian name on several occasions. Of course, he did not delude himself into thinking the man would continue in that way, but he might be persuaded - now that he had seen it so commonly done - to do so and also feel comfortable.

However, Tuesday came and the good Lieutenant did not. Lord Hamilton set himself to writing letters, but found himself staring at a blank paper, uncertain. Nothing he had said or done should make McGraw want to avoid him with any good reason, for he had treated every other man in that room the same way he had him. The issue, then, might be McGraw himself. He'd been frank with them, expressed his admiration for them, and Lord Hamilton thought he'd seen something else when he looked at Miranda. Few men looked at her with disinterest, and her reputation was not an aid, but McGraw didn't seem overly preoccupied with her features, instead always he drew arguments from her, challenged her knowledge and logical reasoning, and entirely satisfied with what he found, not as some men might - by seeing himself as superior - but instead finding an equal, in a way he could not entirely with Lord Hamilton, for whatever reasons.

Lord Hamilton shook himself, and focused on his task. With his full attention, the words flowed from his mind and he was so enraptured that he scarcely heard the knocking on the door, and had barely looked up to witness Lieutenant McGraw almost stumbling into the room, tripping over the servant's boot in his hurry.

"Sorry - that I'm late," McGraw breathed and swayed for a moment then did his best to gather himself.

"I almost thought you'd forgotten; what held you?" Lord Hamilton had startled at the sudden intrusion, but was not given a moment to gather his wits and shift his mind from the letter to the man before he started talking as if in a dreadful hurry, pacing over the floorboards as he did.

"Admiral Hennessey came to me today at the docks, I mean - he was there to speak with Captain Hubb about, well - and requested a meeting of some sort, sooner rather than later. He wants the grand outlining of our plan, of course. The parts that concern his men. We'll need them for a while, but some should be sent home, I was thinking the islanders will surely be brought in line and they could -"

"Good God, man, is the Devil at your heels? Calm down, please - I can hardly understand you! Speak to me slowly and clearly, so that I might understand what the matter is." With considerable self-control, McGraw stopped his erratic pacing, swayed threateningly, and breathed deep.

"Thomas, the Admiral wants me to go with them to Nassau, not as a - what's the matter?"

"You -" Lord Hamilton's breath hitched, his fingers tingled and he wanted - "Nothing, what were you saying?"

"He wants me to continue as a liaison between the governor and the Navy, to sit in the governor's council, to plan our military strategies and the patrols and the training. He wants me to oversee everything, and make certain that the governor's wishes are met in the most efficient way. In other words, he wants to - give me command, Thomas; _power over_ the commodore in office." McGraw's voice was barely above a whisper; he didn't look overjoyed for someone with a grand promotion in the near future. He kept talking, explaining exactly what would be expected of him. It was all background-noise to Lord Hamilton. "Aren't you listening?" McGraw suddenly asked, licking his lips, eyes darting uncomfortably from Lord Hamilton and around the room in quick order, landing on the desk in front of Lord Hamilton's hands.

"Excuse me, I was just - distracted," Lord Hamilton admitted, somewhat bewildered. "Sorry. But you've - you've called me by my Christian name twice, now." Hopefully, Lord Hamilton's eyes searched McGraw's face, begging to be met so the man could see his thoughts.

"Oh." Then James was gone, and only the Lieutenant was left in his place. "Excuse me, I overstepped. It was a mistake and it will not happen again."

"No - James! You called me Thomas, by your own free will and without any prompting - I'm _delighted_!" McGraw looked up and the corner of his mouth twitched as his shoulders relaxed. "I was certain I would need to argue with you for half a day before you agreed, and then very begrudgingly with a twitching jaw and fidgeting hands like you usually do!"

"I wasn't going to, I told myself I couldn't, but then I saw you and in my excitement it felt - natural." Unable to answer reasonably, Lord Hamilton held McGraw's eyes in silence and they welcomed each other, a small nod from James that made Lord Hamilton's smile all the wider.

Lord Hamilton cleared his throat. "Command, you said?"

"The Admiral wants me to be a military adviser, of sorts." And then finally he looked excited, though not altogether comprehending the reality of the situation.

Lord Hamilton did know what to say, except - "that is truly - I'm surprised, not because I don't think you capable, I believe you are more than capable, but I didn't know - I suppose I thought I was the only one who saw that, who _truly_ saw that, but -"

"Admiral Hennessey has been almost like a father to me since I was young. He knows me very well and the others trust his judgement." Not doubting that, Lord Hamilton felt something too close to jealousy. To have seen James, young James - what kind of boy was he? Did he play with his friends, scab his knees and dirty his clothes? Or did he keep to himself, hiding away from everyone with a book in secret? A bit of both? Who was he, truly, underneath the Lieutenant and underneath two-three decades of a life well lived?

"What do you propose we do, then?"

McGraw must already have considered it, for with much more eloquence than his earlier ramblings, he presented his plans of a raid on the beach to capture or kill the pirates and show muscle right away to gain authority. He had planned the patrols - quite frequent in the beginning - and taking on those law-abiding islanders that wanted to join their ranks, to train them to be soldiers, for even though they were unruly they could be brought in line. And with those men they could send back parts of the original forces, hopefully all those who wanted it and those who had family in England. Lord Hamilton was not surprised; McGraw was a military man, after all, but he'd come to thinking of him as James, and that seemed almost a different person; the strategist and the man. And he talked only of hanging the pirates, but Lord Hamilton thought - aren't they men too? Aren't they almost soldiers? Some might even be sons of carpenters, how were they so different?

"But we must also show that we are friends and good allies who come with opportunity and change, to make their lives easier. Offering them positions and stable work will go a long way, I believe, for surely they will see that that is the way to stability in the long run. We must simply convince them of our good intentions, and treat them as equals as best we can."

"Lieutenant! Are you suggesting that we get control of Nassau by asking nicely?" Lord Hamilton asked with an air of scandal, using the words McGraw had showed his doubt with during their first meeting in the study.

"Have you forgotten the first part of my plan?"

"No, I'm merely ignoring it," and Lord Hamilton smiled cheekily at his Navy partner.

*

"James, did you know William lives in London?" Ophelia asked as Lord Hamilton followed the man to the door at the end of the day. There was a pause before McGraw replied.

"No, I didn't."

"You should go see him, don't you think?" Again, the Lieutenant was hesitant.

"He won't want to see me," McGraw mumbled, and Lord Hamilton was yet again astonished by the various sides of the man, now so uncertain.

"Of course he will!"

"I -" McGraw glanced at Lord Hamilton, and he took the cue, letting himself be dismissed in his own house, but grinding his teeth all the same. "I hurt him, _of course_ he won't want to see me!" McGraw hissed, but Lord Hamilton could still hear him.

"Yes, you did! And you should be ashamed! But he _will_ be glad to see you, if you be a man and apologise to him!" Ophelia was angry, and did not bother to lower her voice. Lord Hamilton almost thought she wanted him to hear. "It was me he came to the night you left, me! He hated me and yet he cried into _my_ -" The rest was lost as a door closed.

"Should I feel guilty yet?" Lord Hamilton asked as he caressed his wife's shoulder in bed that night.

"No."

"It's the second time I've listened on a private conversation. I didn't even try not to listen!" Lady Hamilton propped herself on her arms atop his chest and smiled wickedly at him, breasts brushing over his skin pleasantly.

"We hardly know a thing about him, and curiosity isn't a sin," she said innocently and his left hand slipped to caress a heavy breast.

"But still - you're a devil, Miranda - really. What do you think James might've done to poor Willy? I hope he didn't physically hurt him."

"There are worse ways to be hurt, Thomas. They were probably good friends, and James abandoned him for the Navy."

*

"You know that he won't appreciate it, Miranda." It was too late anyway; they were already in the carriage and well on their way.

"I know." Once on the docks where they knew James spent most of his days, Lord Hamilton climbed out and helped his wife down, then waited by their carriage as she scurried over to where the Lieutenant stood, in conversation with some fellow officer.

McGraw turned from his fellow and barked an order at some poor sailor just seconds before Lady Hamilton put her hand on his arm and took his attention. Even from the distance, Lord Hamilton saw his pleasantly surprised smile. McGraw finished his business quickly and together they strode back to the carriage. Lord Hamilton grabbed his shoulder warmly in welcome, and the man's smile was open and radiant and true, fine as the clear weather.

McGraw looked as if he was thoroughly enjoying himself, free of the guilt Lord Hamilton had witnessed on him whenever he felt out of place, or when he thought he shouldn't revel in a moment's peace for one reason or another that was completely out of Lord Hamilton's comprehension.

After enjoying the sun on his face for a moment longer, Lord Hamilton climbed back into the carriage and McGraw gave his wife a hand, coming in last and closing the door.

"I'm surprised they actually get anything done when I'm not there," McGraw complained, though he was still smiling. "Pickram is good enough, if a bit of an oaf; he needs to be told everything, he can't just do things by himself even if he's supposed to. Afraid to do something wrong, I think, but it makes me need to go order him about when I have my own duties to take care of, which in turn makes him angry at me." And Lord Hamilton wondered whether he had someone else to tell this too. When he came home to wherever he resided, who did he talk to about his day? Who did he complain to or tell funny stories to? Lord Hamilton didn't mind that he told him, it was nice, easy. It was what friends did, surely. "Now, where are we going?"

Lady Hamilton had awoken that morning and been in such energetic spirits that instantly she had suggested a day outside. Her husband was never in a state to deny her, and when he'd suggested the Lieutenant might enjoy such a day too, her enthusiasm only rose and she sent him a message right away that came back in the affirmative, somewhat surprising and yet not quite, for it seemed the man had finally warmed to them after that night with too much wine and too many dreams.

The gardens were not impressive as they would be in summer, but the grass was green and everywhere they saw signs of beginnings. Flower buds were accompanied by small birds flitting from tree to tree and singing their spring-time songs in the clear light. The paths were wide enough for them to walk beside each other, and after some moments, Lady Hamilton linked one arm in her husband's and the other in the Lieutenant's. She told them of the flowers they passed, and described how they would look come summer, and Lord Hamilton was astonished at the incredible depth of her botanic expertise, for she knew all the Latin names, when the flowers bloomed and which ones were in the same family. Lord Hamilton guessed that she'd studied all winter and made a plan for changes in their own gardens that he was rather impatient to witness.

The gentle rise and fall of her voice lulled Lord Hamilton into a simple existence, being unnaturally aware of her hand on his elbow and being so linked to the Lieutenant on the other side of her, as well as the soft kiss of sunlight and the brush of green leaves as he let his free hand play over them as they strolled by leisurely, having nowhere else to be, and no one else he would rather spend this lucky afternoon with.

Lord Hamilton bowed at one point, and plucked a stray buttercup from the grass, already a bright yellow and perfectly whole.

"Do you like butter, James McGraw?" asked he in all seriousness as he straightened, and placed the flower under the man's chin. A yellow sheen played gently over his fair skin. "It seems you do."

McGraw nodded and licked his lips quickly, uncertainly, before he answered with a simple yes and his arm still cradling Lady Hamilton's hand.

"Miranda doesn't, but the colour goes beautifully with her hair anyway, do you not agree?" Lord Hamilton pulled away and stroked his wife's hair from her left ear and placed the flower there gently, letting his fingertips brush her jaw with affection; an intimate touch.

"It does."

When they returned to the Hamiltons' residence and sunk into chairs round the smaller dining table McGraw looked exhausted, physically and spiritually. Lady Hamilton had not been contented with gardens only, and had brought them to several places where they could gaze on paintings in silence however long they wished. But Lady Hamilton could also go on ten full minutes about the use of colour in specific paintings, and even longer on the style.

McGraw seemed enraptured, for, he said, he had never before been able to see anything extraordinary when looking at paintings. He had always a fascination with those displaying ships and sea and weather, for he could understand that, he said, but the frown-lines in an unknown face had been entirely uninteresting until Lady Hamilton told him what she saw, the full story of a tragic man prone to denying himself what fruits life offered. Lord Hamilton knew her game, naturally, but McGraw seemed too intent on understanding this art than her implicit meanings.

It was clear that he still was not entirely convinced, not quite understanding, but his eagerness to grasp something otherwise foreign to someone like him, the hunger in his countenance and voice and his eyes as he spoke and soaked up what information was presented, was admirable, and Lord Hamilton was not surprised that someone like him had come as far as he had.

Dinner was silent; they were all tired, but it was a pleasant sort of intimacy, for the best people are those that you can sit in silence with, and be entirely at ease.

After, they withdrew to the drawing room, and Lady Hamilton did not even have to ask for her husband to sit himself in front of the grand piano.

His fingers were only light strokes at first, producing soft and tentative notes, lingering but not imposing. As his fingers warmed and his memory brought forth notes thought forgotten he grew bolder. McGraw hovered at his shoulder with a glass in his hand, and Lord Hamilton played for him, two opposing rhythms, giving and taking in turn, dark and light, easy and uncertain, twining together like a pair of dancers, and swirling apart for their own dance, each demanding to be seen as separate entities, yet capable of becoming one effortlessly.

"May I draw you?" Lady Hamilton asked when her husband slowed again, and repeated the same notes several times to let her talk and be heard. James must've said yes. "Would you sit yourself on the instrument, then?" Lord Hamilton missed a note and murmured a laugh.

"Sit on the piano?" The scandalised expression, the raised eyebrows and half-open mouth, could be heard in the man's voice, and Lord Hamilton could see it in his mind.

"Why ever not? You're a fit man, it truly is not that tall of a thing, but I'll get a chair for you to climb on if you need one," and in her voice Lord Hamilton could hear the smile he was so accustomed to when she enjoyed herself. Without another word, Lieutenant McGraw placed his glass on the piano and eased himself onto it with strong arms, right where the instrument curved. "And if you would turn your head towards Thomas? I'll try and be quick about it."

Then Lord Hamilton resumed his playing, keenly aware of two pairs of heavy eyes on him, meeting the Lieutenant's every so often as his fingers jumped and pressed in rhythm with Miranda's charcoal over fine paper, equally enraptured in their respective form of art.

His fingers etched the scene to their memories and hers drew it on paper for eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? 
> 
> Feedback is incredibly encouraging and helpful! And I just want to say a blanket thank you to everyone who has given kudos and/or commented, you make writing this so much easier!
> 
> Oh, and now I got a new [blog](https://northwisesun.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr but atm there is nothing, still - there will be stuff soon enough!


	10. Chapter Ten Pt One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here there be things not everyone might agree with, but this is how I imagine things might have been with them. They're not headcanons, exactly, but an interpretation of the dynamic in the show.
> 
> If you find anything that seems outright unrealistic, don't hesitate to tell me!

Sunday mornings in the Hamilton residence were always a quiet affair. The servants knew that the Lord and Lady never ventured into the house before eleven at the earliest, when they would expect an especially fine meal. The sacred habit had not been disturbed in years, for they took no company on Sunday mornings. However, not all knew of their almost religious dedication to that particular custom, and on a rainy Sunday morning in early April 1705, it was broken by the rude rousing of Lord Hamilton. Grumbling like one years past his age, the man draped his otherwise nude body in a dressing gown of deep red silk and glared at the dark heavens.

Lieutenant McGraw was standing like a statue in the entrance hall but did not immediately see Lord Hamilton. Had it been anyone else he might’ve been curt with them, but with the knowledge that McGraw had met with one Admiral Hennessey the previous night he repressed his annoyance together with a yawn.

“James, whatever is it that irks you so at this ungodly hour?” He brought a hand to the base of his neck and let it rest there, for it was still warm and he could almost convince himself that there was some snugness left to be found in the world, despite the cold air in the room.

When McGraw finally saw the master of the house, standing in a dressing gown and that only – not even a pair of stockings were protecting his feet – his face drew together in a frown, creases around his mouth becoming more prominent as his eyes searched the room in confusion.

“What time is it?” His voice was a hoarse grumble, scratchy up his throat.

“Just past six, I believe. Did you want anything in particular?”

“Six? Only six?” mumbled he to himself with unfocused eyes, not quite seeming to notice Lord Hamilton, in all his grandiosely irritable appearance.

“Yes. Now, whatever brought you here? Will you answer me, or should I return to my bedchamber?” McGraw shifted, and the gentle glow of a candle illuminated his face. “Dear God, is that – Have you been hurt?” Suddenly alert, Lord Hamilton closed the distance between them, searching the man’s face more intently. The bruise around his eye and the small smudge of blood under his nose were unmistakable. He wanted to reach out, to soothe, but restrained himself when McGraw was clearly not entirely present.

“Not really,” and the smile – the quirk of his lips – was all satisfaction, but for only a moment. “You should see the other one. There was a – brawl, my Lord. I’m sorry. I came to tell you myself, it is only right; and I suspect that the rumours will be much worse than the reality. I’ve been awake all night considering it, and I think – I think it best that you find another liaison.” Lord Hamilton felt for a moment as if the air had been knocked out of him quite violently, bewilderment and anxiety keeping him from speaking for moments before he collected his wits, not an easy task with the Lieutenant’s honest eyes on him.

“Why would I do that?” he croaked, and hoped he had managed to school his expression at least.

“I’m afraid my reason concerning this endeavour is not intact. We are too familiar, we have strayed from our purpose with dreams instead of achievable plans.” He looked as if he would keep speaking, but Lord Hamilton did not let him. A relieved sigh escaped his lips and the panic resided.

“Thank God.”

“Excuse me?”

“Thank God, your concern is something I can argue against without any trouble at all. James, you are nothing but reasonable, is it not you that kill every dream I have, then suggest something that is both achievable and mostly compatible with my ideals? Our intimacy is only a lucky addition, our good understanding and dare I say friendship, is only beneficial to our assignment. Don’t be stubborn, I’m tired of it.”

“My Lord,” McGraw huffed with an almost-smile, and continued, “you don’t quite understand the situation. I spoke with Hennessey, and I must say, he also seemed concerned. There was… an incident, I charged a fellow officer.” The raw honesty in McGraw gaze cut sharply. He stood straight when he told of his actions, with his arms behind his back, not ashamed, but one looking as if he expected punishment.

“Why did you do that?” asked Lord Hamilton with a deep frown, not thinking the Lieutenant capable of such unrefined and base violence.

“He disrespected your wife, my Lord, a despicable offence. I did not think; it needed to be answered and I’m afraid I reversed to those base instincts that are so common among people of my station.”

“And what, exactly, did he say?” McGraw grimaced at the coldness of Lord Hamilton’s tone, and his eyes darted around the room nervously.

“I’d rather not say, my Lord, it was very crude.”

“One way or another I’ll hear of it, you might as well tell me now and get it over with.” McGraw hesitated, but crumbled under the stern eyes on him like a schoolboy.

“He said,” with a grimace, McGraw decided that it was better done quickly. “He said our partnership must be most beneficial to me in the future and that people might think me a gentleman, and that – if you liked me well enough, you might let me uh –” McGraw’s courage failed him altogether.

“That I might let you _what_ , James?”

“Fuck… fuck your wife, my Lord. I assure you, I’ve never wanted –” The Lieutenant’s desperation would’ve been comical, had not Lord Hamilton been so angry.

“Good, good that you hit him, it was well deserved,” he growled. “There are rumours about my wife, James, but I assure you, I never have to _let_ her do anything, she is her own person, and neither she nor I care a second about what they say. But that they should affect you too, that is infuriating, whatever the truth may be. They have no right to speak in that manner! and if I’d been there I might’ve hit him myself.” Lord Hamilton’s fingers were trembling, but he clenched his jaw and took a calming breath. “You will not go anywhere, James, I am entirely dependent on you to see this through, am I clear? Good, now come, you look half asleep on your feet. Ophelia!” The servant came running and led McGraw, rather forcibly, to a guestroom – “no, not that one! My father sleeps there when he’s here!” – where Lord Hamilton bullied him into bed. “And when he wakes you will draw a bath for him, and it will be scented with something strong, there will be a variety of soaps for him – the best we have. There will be bubbles and food to feed an army, with an abundance of French pastries, the most ridiculous ones you can find. Make sure he eats.” With that Lord Hamilton stomped back to his bedroom and roused his wife when he slipped beneath the covers.

“What is it?” she mumbled.

“I think this is the very first time I’ve displayed my power-over a fellow man by being overly hospitable, and I assure you, if James McGraw has not been thoroughly and irrevocably convinced that _I_ am in charge here, I will get violent.”

“What on earth has happened?”

“The blasted man threatened to leave! Now, get back to sleep or I’ll never get rid of my irritation.”

*

Although he did not sleep for long, Lord Hamilton was in a much more amiable mood when he woke for the second time that morning. He slipped out of bed without disturbing his wife, who looked altogether peaceful with her hair fanned about her head like a dark halo. He dressed lightly; for comfort rather than appearance, and broke his fast in solitary. He was blissfully calm as he did so, but sensed something brewing in his stomach; a foreign nervousness he did not care to consider.

As the house was still uncommonly silent by the time he finished, Lord Hamilton made his way outside to stroll leisurely in the gardens. It wasn’t long before his shoes were wet through and stained by the dewy grass that had adopted a miserable grey hue from the clouds, a colour reflected in everything he saw about him. The early bloomers were shrouded in a hazy fog, turning the normally lively garden into a place of misty silence, a sanctuary for all things wilting and lost. He walked through it like he would a dream world and inhaled the scent of wet earth and rain as his fingertips went cold.

Against all better judgement, Lord Hamilton sat down in that dark under-water world and supported himself on his elbows. In the distance a glimmer of hope was perceptible in the sliver of sky coloured a shy, yellow-tinged blue.

Lord Hamilton did not mind the cold and unforgiving earth beneath him, nor the feeling of warmth seeping from his bones, slowly but surely, for he so rarely felt it. He now dug his fingers into the damp mud. He did not care that he stained them, nor that he stained his clothing, for it was a small matter to someone like him. He did not take part in the natural turns of the world; was only an observer from his secluded spot behind his windows. He did not know what it was to go hungry, did not know what it was to go cold. And so, he enjoyed it, seeking the feeling of true elements working on him.

Surely McGraw was of a different mind, having too much experience with it. He could imagine it; James and his younger sister huddled together round the cooking fire whilst eating their supper. They would be warm and snug, then – perhaps draped in a blanket by their father – but later they would retire to their beds, and there would be no fire to keep the cold at bay in the winter season. They would likely sleep together in a bed, attempting to keep each other warm. It was such a different reality from Lord Hamilton’s own.

It was the thought of McGraw that brought forth that nervousness again, and Lord Hamilton delved into it with dread. He was not one to doubt his word nor his actions, because he always trusted himself to keep a clear mind at all times and never forgo thorough consideration of a matter. Which was why he so regretted himself from that morning, for he had not been clearheaded. He’d not thought for a second of McGraw’s side of things, on the danger he might face because of their partnership when such rumours were already spread about. His position was granted only by the goodwill of a senior officer, and to be the victim of unkind rumours; gaining a reputation for violence; inspire jealousy and anger in his fellow officers by no true fault of his own, surely that would not in any way strengthen his character in the eyes of others.

However, in the dim light of morning, Lord Hamilton had to take into account a reason just as probable for McGraw’s wariness; his aversion to continue their partnership from a personal outlook. He might not _want_ to continue their endeavour – perhaps not even their interaction – and then this incident would present a perfect opportunity to withdraw without stepping on any important toes, until Lord Hamilton had denied that easy escape and force the man to endure or speak more plainly, which would mean – McGraw would think – making an enemy of Lord Thomas Hamilton.

He was loathe to think that was the case, but could not deny the possibility.

In retrospect, Lord Hamilton should have anticipated such an incident, especially after his wife had so unashamedly fetched McGraw from the docks in front of everyone that knew him and in such a familiar fashion. As he had told the Lieutenant, he knew very well the rumours concerning his wife’s disloyalty, and he also knew the truth to them. At first it had been difficult to know that she was visited by other men, but his conscience did not let him disallow it as he could not satisfy her needs himself. In the beginning they had tried very often – and thought his inability to perform stemmed from nervousness – but when it did not get better, Lady Hamilton whispered the word sodomite. She had been very certain and very grave, but accepting. Lord Hamilton knew, however, that she was wrong. He had experimented in his youth – in ways no man should ever experiment – but had never drawn satisfaction from the act of lovemaking; not then with men, and not now with the woman he knew he loved.

Of course, he had offered to please her, had wanted to, even, but she did not allow it, knowing he would take no pleasure from it. He knew that she wanted it, though, and that she ached for it whenever they lay together in bed and he held her, caressed her, kissed her. But he could not give more than that, and he was so very sorry.

But it did not do to dwell on such topics, it did not do. He was not bothered by her lovers anymore, knowing that she loved none like she loved him, and that their connection only strengthened with time. Lord Hamilton grew always more thankful of his luck at happening upon such an understanding and patient woman.

Lord Hamilton shook his head at himself, bearing a melancholy smile as he thought of her. She didn’t like him dwelling on such matters, and she wouldn’t like to separate if they could; he knew this, and yet he still felt sometimes that he had cheated her.

There was one thing that he could provide her with, however, something no other man she might’ve ended up with could, and that was joining her in the shallow appreciation of others appearance, and especially that of other men. For, despite his lack of interest in sexual interaction, he could not deny that he found men attractive; even more so than women. Nathaniel Philpott had been a subject since the day she met him, for he only grew more handsome with the years. He was as tall as Lord Hamilton himself but his frame was wider, his head was a brown curly mess – he never wore wigs to Lord Hamilton’s salons and they were ever thankful – and his fine beard was neatly trimmed. The grey that crept into his hair and beard once he passed forty only made him more attractive. The difference between Lord Hamilton and his wife was that while she spoke of sexual desires regarding these men, he had never thought past their good looks, had never wanted more.

Which was why he did not understand the effect McGraw had on him. Sometimes they would stand by the bookshelves and he would be behind James, leaning over his shoulder to bring his attention to a certain book, then he would become acutely aware of the proximity between them and grow hot at the sight of the man’s neck, so close to his lips. The shadow behind McGraw’s strong jaw was tempting his lips and he wanted to feel the man’s hair in his hands. Lady Hamilton’s neck was much finer, of course, long and slim – unblemished – but could not hold her husband’s attention like McGraw’s. He didn’t understand it; had never before been on so shaky ground because he did want to put his lips to McGraw’s neck, if only to see what it might be like. Perhaps he would understand Lady Hamilton’s talk of carnal desire, even though this was not that. This was only curiosity, surely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally much longer because I just kept writing. I split it in two, instead of making you wait longer, and the next part will be up in only a few days! It's written, but I'm buying myself a few more days to write the next chapter :)
> 
> I hope this was acceptable!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


	11. Chapter Ten Pt Two

Lord Hamilton crossed his legs and laid back on the ground, one had pushing through his light hair and rumpling it. It was a sort of boyish fancy of his, to walk around with his hair sticking up in places. He did not care much for physical appearance, and a little break from the serious was always welcome. He dragged his hands through the wet grass and brought them to his hair again, successfully making it stand upright in places. If he looked mad, he thought it would only be fitting, for he was mad. Mad with life, mad with excitement and feeling and bad ideas like letting outlaws live. For they _could not_ kill all those pirates, that would diminish the population by much too much and nothing would be stable in Nassau.

A population that consisted of farmers, sailors, fishers, carpenters, blacksmiths – why not set the pirates to work? Such a grand number of able-bodied men was simply ridiculous to get rid of; they would be the driving force of Nassau if they were only allowed. Pardon them and set them to honest work that gave them stability in life, that let them have their fun on the right side of the law and spare them having to risk their life every time they went out with their ships! 

Oh, but it was dangerous, Lord Hamilton saw that at once, and an awful feeling of dread filled his chest. Not only the risk brought by the pirates once the measures could be set in place – that he was not too worried about – but what of his father? What of Parliament? But it must be done, it must. He had never thought to hang the pirates, not all of them, but he had been unsure what to do with them. Now, however…

Good ideas always came from ruffling one’s own hair.

In a bout of energy, Lord Hamilton assembled all his long limbs and rose, somewhat stiffly, to go inside to the warmth of the house yet again.

Neither his wife nor the Lieutenant had awoken, so he seated himself in his study, frantically scribbling down a plan for the pirates; how to argue his case and how to counter oppositions. It was only an idea, still in the first stages of infancy, but if this worked, well, he might save himself both trouble and money. 

The general ideas put on paper, Lord Hamilton hid it in one of his drawers and sat back in his chair.

Miranda’s sketch from a few nights ago lay on his desk and he picked it up gingerly. She’d been very awkward with a pen when they first met, but started practising more after their marriage, saying she would want to sketch him at all times, for she so liked his smile when he was happy, his frown when he was dissatisfied or in deep thought. And she’d said she wanted to sketch their children.

But she was much better now, and no one would doubt that it was he and James on the paper. Lord Hamilton was looking at the keys and McGraw was looking at him, but he supposed the fond look on the man’s face was more Miranda’s artistic liberties than McGraw’s true expression at the time. She had also drawn Lord Hamilton with a straight back, even though he knew he always slouched when playing the piano.

When McGraw finally arrived, he was accompanied by a strong, but pleasant soapy smell.

“Good morning, Lieutenant, I hope you’ve slept well. Have you bathed? Eaten?”

“Are you trying to say you can’t smell it?” McGraw huffed.

“Sorry, I was opting for courteous. No, I can tell all the way from here you used the same scent I prefer. It happens to also be Miranda’s favourite, good choice.”

“I’m not used to perfumed soaps, it’s very odd. Do you always get breakfast served like that? It was rather… overwhelming.” McGraw seated himself on the other side of the desk and let his eyes explore it – from Lord Hamilton’s fingers holding the sketch, to a stack of books; a used glass with some remaining wine in that should’ve been cleaned away; a litter of documents; a quill and candlestick then to a decorative rooster, simply there because Lord Hamilton liked the oddity of the ensemble.

“Ah yes, I mean no, I don’t ever take my breakfast in that way. It was purposeful, what I did; meant to set you off kilter, and I apologise. It seems my scheme worked.”

“When do your schemes not work?” McGraw asked, but despite Lord Hamilton’s confession, he did not seem upset. He had a smile on his face that bore a close resemblance to the one on Lady Hamilton’s sketch.

“And I wanted to apologise for this morning, I was not quite myself,” continued Lord Hamilton with cheeks red from embarrassment. “I didn’t consider that you might want to end our partnership, that you might want to go back to your usual duties. I understand if that is what you want, and I will harbour no ill feelings, but I would very much like for you to stay with me. Like I said; I do need you, James.” Lord Hamilton had long cultivated the skill of holding one’s eyes fast and steady. His eyes did not shift nervously when he looked at McGraw, he wanted him to see the truth there.

“I do not want to leave, don’t worry. I just thought, with the rumours, with everything that happened, that it might not be accepted by someone like you. I understand that you’re very far removed from betty brawls.” Lord Hamilton chuckled.

“You think me more innocent than I am. Do you know the only reason I’ve only ever hit someone once in my entire life? I was fifteen and in the company of some other boys, sons of my father’s acquaintances. A young woman came by, a bit older than us and incredibly beautiful. One of the boys commented when she left, I can’t even remember what he said, but it was truly offensive – or at least I hope it was – and I’d never liked him, so I hit him right across the face and broke my hand. It hurt something infernally!” At his humorous voice, McGraw let himself laugh as well, loudly and clearly, without restraint, but it was not with malicious intent.

“I didn’t even think you could hit hard enough to break your hand!” James said, fondly mocking him.

“Oh, hush you, I’m not that weak!”

And McGraw replied, with a mischievous look in his eyes; “No, that’s not it – you’re just that fragile.”

“Oh, Lieutenant! a good bruising and a full stomach suits you; I’d dearly like to see you this honest more often!” Lord Hamilton grinned, and if it was a bit sheepish McGraw did not seem to notice.

“Didn’t suit the other one.”

“Yes, how are your knuckles?” Lord Hamilton leaned over the table to have a look, so McGraw put his hands forth and let his partner feel round the bruising, not flinching although there was a bit of a sting.

“I actually know how to throw a punch without hurting myself,” McGraw teased. “I’m all right, they don’t hurt and I got the blood washed off.”

“And your nose isn’t broken?”

“My nose isn’t broken.”

“And you’re absolutely certain you don’t want to leave and never come back again? I won’t judge you, I am, after all, very scary.”

“Yes, Thomas!” McGraw blurted and they laughed together. “Are you quite satisfied?”

“Oh, don’t go there; what about world peace?!” McGraw snorted, much in the same way Miranda did.

“You are incredible.”

“Mhm, thank you,” Lord Hamilton replied, because it _was_ half a compliment. “On a more serious note; what did Hennessey think about our plans for his men?”

“He had nothing to oppose directly, though he didn’t seem all that convinced that we can easily trade soldiers with islanders,” McGraw admitted, not apologetically, but something resembling it in the minuscule shrug he offered.

“That doesn’t surprise me; it must be there you’ve gotten your chronic pessimism from. Oh, don’t look at me like that, it _is_ a disease!” Even Lord Hamilton found it hard to stay focused at times, and with his relief that James admitted to wanting to stay with him it was not made easier; for what would he do without him? Lord Hamilton had people that knew him, of course; Philpott, Ashe whom he considered his closest friend, but his dynamic with McGraw was different; it was far more relaxed, not burdened by the laws of society because McGraw was much less refined than he thought himself. It was incredibly refreshing. “But he approved of the numbers? He thinks it will be enough to execute your plan of attack and keep order?”

“Yes; the pirates may be well trained in fighting, mostly at sea, but they don’t have our discipline. They attack all at once, each man for himself with no strategic thought. Even though we are outnumbered, they will be outwitted and outgunned. Even Admiral Hennessey doesn’t doubt that, and he approved of my plan of attack, thinking it the best way to go about getting control of the place.” The creases of his face smoothed, his posture relaxed, his eyes twinkled; the Admiral had clearly been generous with his praise, although Lord Hamilton suspected he’d said nothing outright.

“Very good. And I must say, I didn’t doubt that for a second, although I admit to not knowing much of military strategy.”

“Then it’s good that I do. Isn’t this what partnerships are supposed to be? I know nothing of the political game around this endeavour though I suspect that it is more important than how to dispel the pirates.” There was a spell of silence, and McGraw played absent-mindedly with the rooster on Lord Hamilton’s desk, letting his nails catch on the crevices, tapping it lightly. “I had not intended to be here today and as it is I already have other plans. But I wanted to apologise, for barging in this morning in that way. I was upset, I hadn’t been able to sleep. You must understand my concern; I was certain you would want to see me go and in truth –” McGraw lifted his eyes from the rooster to Lord Hamilton’s face for only a second, “I did not want that to be all you would remember me by; someone who could not control his temper, who replied with barbarism to the smallest offence. I did not want that to be your impression of me.”

“James,” the man looked up and met Lord Hamilton’s eyes with his nervous ones, “I would not think that. I know you, and I understand very well why you did what you did. I believe it is much easier to forgive someone once you know their motivations. Which is why I believe that most villains in those books we enjoy so could be more understood and perhaps even forgiven, were the story from their angle. Not that I think you a villain in this, of course not, that was simply a general observation. Now you are free to go, if you so want, and I’ll see you again on Tuesday?”

“Yes, thank you.” McGraw rose and walked to the door of the study, a hand hesitating on the handle. He turned to Lord Hamilton again. “And thank you, Thomas, for making me stay and sleep.” McGraw turned the doorknob and was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is short, but like I said it was originally part of the previous one! I promise the next will be of normal length!


	12. Chapter Eleven

Tuesday came wet and dreary, disrupting Lady Hamilton’s plans of a day out with friends. Instead she invited them home, warning Lord Hamilton just in time to lock himself in his study. He was not unsocial, but being easily affected by the weather he grumbled and muttered so that his wife didn't even want him to receive them, knowing that this particular flock of hens would only further disturb him.

McGraw arrived sometime after the visitors and was immediately ushered past them to the study.

“Bring us some wine, dear. Otherwise I’d like to be undisturbed, thank you.”

“Is something the matter?” McGraw inquired, seating himself in his chair opposite Lord Hamilton.

“Several somethings but there’s naught to do about it. Ah, perfect, could you stir the fire as well?” When the servant left, Lord Hamilton relaxed his posture so that he did not look the lord at all, sitting at the edge of his seat and inclining wearily against the back of the chair. “We’re at the second stage, James, and I fear it will be more difficult that the first. We know what people we need, we know the material and the ships we need. It’s all inconsequential if our men are not allowed to settle on the island; if they’re shunned, on the receiving end of passive aggressiveness that will make cooperation a nightmare.”

“We can do little to avoid that in the beginning, before we have proven ourselves to them.” Lord Hamilton very much enjoyed McGraw’s honesty, but alas, today it only irked him for the fact that the man might be entirely correct.

“Why?” Lord Hamilton demanded anyway, sharper than necessary, and set his eyes firmly on McGraw who did not take long to consider before answering.

“Well, how would you feel if someone came in here and told you to get rid of the roosters on your desk; who burned your books; who shot holes through that map there?” McGraw pointed behind himself, turning slightly to look at the magnificent thing. He remained entirely composed in the face of Lord Hamilton’s challenge.

“That would be idiocy! They would have no reason to; we have a strong case that is in their best interest!”

“That doesn’t matter if they refuse to believe it. All they see if someone coming into their home looking disapprovingly at them as if they’re bad children and start telling them how to arrange their stuff and live their lives. No one likes people who think themselves better than them and who then start to lecture them. My Lord – Thomas, this angle of the matter is only taking time and attention from more important things.” McGraw’s eyebrows were drawn together as if he didn’t quite understand why this bothered Lord Hamilton so, and was pleading for him to drop it.

“You’re right, I apologise. I’m just irritated with – God,” Lord Hamilton muttered. “And since I can’t argue with him I need to argue with someone else.” He sighed and pressed his eyes tightly closed, rubbing the hair at the back of his neck with long fingers.

“God is irritating you?” McGraw sounded not only confused, but slightly concerned for his partner’s wellbeing.

“The weather! Have you seen it, Lieutenant? It’s depressing!”

“And that is God’s fault?” McGraw looked doubtful, and it was entirely infuriating.

“It doesn’t matter! So, we need their cooperation to prove our worth, but we must first prove our worth to gain their cooperation. Do you see our problem as clearly as I do?” McGraw nodded, but did not otherwise reply. His shoulders had visibly straightened upon hearing Lord Hamilton’s harsh voice and he sat uncomfortably in his chair. He was not prone to making eye contact; only when expressing complete sincerity did he truly hold Lord Hamilton’s eyes, but in this moment, he barely glanced at him. His eyes were lowered respectfully, and he looked as if this was their very first meeting. The chair groaned as Lord Hamilton pushed away from the desk as sprung to his feet. He did not pace. He marched the length of the room repeatedly.

“My Lord, with respect, I –” Lord Hamilton filled and emptied a glass of wine, then half of the next. There was a small braid neatly tucked away and almost hidden in the Lieutenant’s hair, but Lord Hamilton had noticed it when he turned his head to point at the map. It was more visible from this angle, standing behind him as he was.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll remove my justaucorps; it is too stiff about the shoulders.” Lord Hamilton hung it neatly on a hook between the bookshelves and his wig went as well. Bracing himself, Lord Hamilton took a deep breath before his eyes found and held McGraw’s. “I apologise. I’m more out of sorts than I thought myself and I don’t quite know why, but you have nothing to do with it, I’ve been this way since I a-woke.”

“Do you fence, my Lord?”

“No. Do you dance, James?”

“I don’t, and I wasn’t about suggesting it. But then how are we to go about relieving you of your tension? You might play some, if that soothes you.” Lord Hamilton did not enjoy that McGraw was calm and collected when he himself was not.

“There are guests that I have not the patience to interact with,” Lord Hamilton huffed as if indignant at their very presence in his home. McGraw rose, and Lord Hamilton followed him with his eyes as he went to the windows behind the desk and leant against the wall there, gazing outward and looking in deep contemplation.

“Thomas?” McGraw didn’t look at him and his deep voice was soft, yet Lord Hamilton felt as if the man had taken control of his faculties and pulled him up beside himself by the window by force, not because Lord Hamilton didn’t want to go, but because his tone held something of command in it that required an answer. It was as if he went by instinct upon hearing it. “Will you tell me what you see? Out there?” McGraw breath ghosted over the glass for a second, but the dew faded quickly.

“There isn’t much to see,” Lord Hamilton confessed. “The sky is grey; the buildings are grey; I can hardly see them through the rain. Everything is grey, and the world is weeping.”

“Truly?” A sparrow flitted past the window and a second one followed; they circled each other, diving and rising through the air together like lovers dancing. For one second the skies split somewhere in the distance, a single ray of sunshine broke through and created a beautiful colour play for them. Even from the study they could see blooming flowers in the garden and the shy yellow of buttercups. There was even some purple to be seen amidst the shades of green. Even in this dreary world they were surrounded by colours, orange flames dancing in the fireplace and illuminating their faces to one another, McGraw's red hair and Hamilton’s blue eyes. “If our perspective changes with our mood, if _we_ change with our mood, or with the weather, or whether we’ve eaten or not, who are we? If we only follow our principles when it suits us and when it’s comfortable, what good is it to have them at all? How much are they worth, and how much are we worth? We can’t choose when to uphold and when to forget our beliefs, but when we’re put so out of order from some spiritual trouble, might that not be a consequence? I don’t have your formal schooling, my Lord, but even people like me know that vegetables need rain to grow. I can only suppose the same goes for roses and trees. Do not curse the rain.”

“No. I suppose I shouldn’t.” Lord Hamilton whispered with shaky breath and put his head slowly on the glass, tilted so that he could see James clearly. He put his hand there on the sill, played with it in lazy, absent-minded strokes, and felt himself slowly calm.

“I have learnt to never let myself be affected by whatever feelings are in me when I work. It is forced upon people like me, so you wouldn’t know of it. You can stay in bed all day if you like, but if someone like me doesn’t get up to do their part they will lose their only means of income and find themselves unable to feed themselves and their family. We don’t matter, only the work we can do does, so we must work.”

And so, work they did.

*

“I want to dispose of the current governor.” McGraw had taken off his jacket in the first hour and rolled his sleeves to his elbows in the second. Lord Hamilton fetched the food from a table outside in the third, a single plate and two forks (he had barely registered eating at all, so engrossed had he been in their heated discussion. Neither had he seen how McGraw petulantly took the last piece of food from right under his own fork before he put his empty one in his mouth). By the forth, McGraw had had five glasses of wine and yet he still miraculously managed to sit quite primly in his chair and make good arguments. Lord Hamilton had several times reminded himself it was a bad idea to stand up, and so refrained from doing it until it was absolutely necessary.

“Why?” His desk was now so littered with documents that it was quite hard to find anything, but after some digging he retrieved a pamphlet and gave it to McGraw. Above a wicked looking man with a head in one hand and his other raised with a cutlass as if to strike the woman on her knees beneath him, the words _An Account of the Barbarous and Debauched PYRATE MENACE of the BAHAMA ISLANDS_ were printed in bold letters.

“Herein lies the problem we are to face in securing Nassau’s future. It is a problem that has festered for more than a generation, and it’s a problem most insidious.”

“Illiteracy.” James looked altogether too smug when looking up at him, so Lord Hamilton only smiled for a short second, biting down on a bubble of laughter and being annoyed at himself for finding it funny.

__“Her husband,” Lord Hamilton said, pointing at the woman on the front, before leaning heavily on the desk for support, “Governor Robert Thompson, the one accepting bribes from pirate captains as fast as they can pay them in exchange for catering to their every need. Meanwhile he’s sending word back to his pamphleteer friends in London about the scourge of the pirate menace.” The disgust in his voice was a living thing, souring the air in the room. “Which garners him sympathy and support, which solidifies his position and only fuels the underlying problem.”_ _

__“That’s true, but I don’t think we can do anything about it.” Lord Hamilton straightened, looming over McGraw, who was still in his chair but not at all bothered by having to look up at him. There was a challenge in his voice, like there had been all day, when Lord Hamilton asked; “We can’t get an honest man appointed in the Bahamas?”_ _

__“We can get him appointed. The problem seems to be keeping him honest thereafter.” Lord Hamilton found his chair again, feeling restless and irritated, not understanding why people couldn’t just _Behave_._ _

__“What stands in the way, then?”_ _

__“Well – the Atlantic Ocean,” McGraw replied matter-of-factly. “Put a man on an island, give him power over other men, and it won’t be long until he realises that the limits of that power are nowhere to be seen, and no man given that kind of influence will remain honest for very long.” He was absolutely infuriating. Thomas closed his eyes on him but not for long. There was a knock at the door and he was tempted to send whoever it was on their way with a strong ‘no!’._ _

__“Yes?” he called instead, as gently as he could. And good for him it was, too, because it was his wife who entered, and she would’ve made him regret anything else. McGraw stood respectfully when he saw her._ _

__“I came to make sure you two were still alive,” she said, and her husband muttered a ‘drowning in a wine bottle’, but offered a good-natured smile anyway at the sight of her. “No one’s heard from you in hours.” McGraw sat back in his seat, on the receiving end of one of Lady Hamilton’s dazzling smiles._ _

__“The Lieutenant was just recounting to me his belief that the only thing that stands between us and a prosperous Nassau is an ocean, a hundred years of history, and human nature.” Lady Hamilton draped an arm across her husband’s shoulders and he felt himself unwind in the warmth and comfort of it, taking her hand in his and looking up at her with all the admiration he could muster, for his tired chest was filled to the brim with it. She returned the smile and pressed her other hand in a firm caress over his shoulder._ _

__“Has he been like this all day?” she asked when their considerable attention shifted to the Lieutenant. And what a pair they made; it being coincidental or not, they had dressed in matching attires, Lady Hamilton stood tall and firm, a glorious protector at her husband’s back and him, sitting now very upright and so trusting in her and the bond they shared, together they looked as if the world could charge them and be defeated._ _

__“More or less, Ma’am, yes,” McGraw admitted, but he smiled through the pretended exasperation – for who could not, when in presence of their overwhelming strength – and she had an answering chuckle, moving away from Lord Hamilton to pull a particular book from the shelves. She was still smiling as she put it in front of the Lieutenant on the desk._ _

__“A gift. One of my favourites. And you might find it helpful in dealing with my husband going forward.” Lord Hamilton didn’t need to look to know which book she had chosen, but chuckled all the same, for the time she chose to give it was so perfect. McGraw looked as surprised as he looked pleased at the gift. It was a beautiful thing._ _

__“Thank you, dear, well played. Although that edition is in Spanish. I don’t think the Lieutenant speaks it,” Lord Hamilton conceded, looking curiously at him. The man was smiling, truly but shyly. It was only ever that with him, closed lipped but kinder by the day._ _

__“Then perhaps he should learn,” Lady Hamilton suggested. “In his profession you never know when it might be useful.” Lord Hamilton felt almost out of place as his wife and McGraw smiled at each other, for it was so intimate from her and so experimental from him, a smile that Lord Hamilton had never seen directed elsewhere. They met each other halfway, the two of them; there was no doubt that their tempers and minds were more aligned than his were with either of them. But even upon examination he could not find any trace of jealousy, for they looked at home in each other’s presence; sides of them could be met that he could not reach._ _

__Licking his lips, McGraw considered a moment before acknowledging the truth of her words. “Although I happen to have no one to teach me,” he said. “Except, of course, if you would be willing to do so.” McGraw’s eyes flitted from one to the other, and Lord Hamilton did not know to whom he spoke._ _

__“But can you learn? It is very difficult, Lieutenant, and for someone like you? Well, you mustn’t strain yourself too much, it might give you wrinkles and then what are you good for?” Nonchalantly, Miranda Hamilton waltzed out of the room. McGraw sat, stunned in the wake of her presence._ _

__“Excuse her. I knew I would need to say this again, it is just how she is when she’s comfortable with someone. You should take it as a compliment, believe me; the cold shoulder is much worse.”_ _

__“She’s a formidable woman, you’re very lucky to have her,” McGraw said, and there was none of that hidden contempt that he sometimes saw in others who said the same thing and thought him unworthy of her._ _

__“I know, I think about it every day.”_ _

__“It’s a shame that she’s not a man,” McGraw mused, to Lord Hamilton’s confusion, for he could only think that the man meant she was not equal to them. “It’s not right that she doesn’t have the opportunities that we do, she would take more advantage of them than almost every man I know.” It was all he could do not to clap his hands in delight._ _

__“I agree wholeheartedly, except that she could not be my wife if she were a man. I might be a bit selfish that way, but – I realise it might be hard for another to understand – I am much more reliant upon her than she is upon me, and if I was with another,” Lord Hamilton hesitated, for this was his own private thoughts, his fear of _what if he’d married someone else_ for reasons he couldn’t possibly relay to others. “Everything would be different, wouldn’t it? It is no surprise to you that I am a very peculiar man, and that it might have been problematic.”_ _

__“Peculiar is not a synonym for bad, Thomas, it’s important that we’re not all the same.” The sincerity in McGraw’s grave face inspired a range of emotions in Lord Hamilton’s chest, emotions that he was not prepared for, nor did he know what to do with them. He was used to Peter and Nathaniel and some others laughing fondly when he talked that way of himself, he knew they truly enjoyed his company, but they did not say such things, did not insinuate – like McGraw had, whether he was aware of it or not – that his peculiar personality was a good thing, and perhaps the very reason they liked him._ _

__“Thank you, James.” The man nodded but looked down on his hands quickly, perhaps thinking he had spoken too honestly, although it was clear that Lord Hamilton didn’t mind. He was strange that way, comfortable enough to speak, yet always regretting doing so immediately after. “Has it really been hours? I hardly noticed the time passing. Perhaps we should let our minds rest a bit, then; we have been quite efficient today, I think. Having a vision of how we might be welcomed and measures that might be taken to respond to whatever ill feelings there will be is crucial. We’ll think on the issue concerning the governor the next time; we might get a good idea in the meantime.” Lord Hamilton rose and put an end to their meeting. He felt different now than he had that morning; his assurance in himself was evident in the set of his shoulders and his features naturally arranged themselves into a pleasant fit. He followed McGraw to the entrance hall._ _

__“We’re not to meet on Thursday, are we?”_ _

__“No, I have prior engagements.” McGraw nodded as he slipped into his heavy coat and put his hat neatly atop his hair. The servant disappeared. “I know I’ve been difficult today, and yet you’ve only been kind and patient with me, thank you. You’re a good man too, James.”_ _

__“You flatter me more than I deserve, I nearly threw something at you at least twice and behaved only because I need your good opinion if I’m to advance my career.” Lord Hamilton had never seen him wink before, but he did so now, as playful as Lord Hamilton had ever seen him, and bid his goodbyes, leaving Lord Hamilton stuttering in his wake._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to bring your attention to the fact that my boys are surrounded by the gay-flag colours when they're standing by the window. It just... happened by itself (more or less).
> 
> I'm kind of unsure about this chapter, so any constructive feedback would be great.
> 
> Now, I had a deal with [ Chainofprospit ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Chainofprospit) last weekend to actually get a chapter posted by the end of it. I posted two times, and they just... disappointed us all by taking ALMOST A WEEK MORE to update. They're truly terrible, truly. But you should go check out their work Where The Winds Sigh anyway because it's beautiful! (I was supposed to link it, but ao3 fucked it all up and I got frustrated.)
> 
> I will try to update more frequently, but there's no hiding that comments really motivate me :)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who reads this, it means so incredibly much to me! <3


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright people, this chapter is a bit different form what we're used to I believe, and I really hope you enjoy it!

Lord Hamilton remembered very well the day his wife was born. Not because he’d been there, of course. He’d not heard her name, had not an inkling that her family was to have a child at all, and certainly not that this girl would come to mean so much to him. No; he’d been almost ten years old and had found his mother unconscious on the floor of the library where she spent so much of her time. He’d been frightened almost out of his own skin, screaming and wailing when she wouldn’t wake as he shook her, until a footman came running and pulled him away, thinking her dead. She wasn’t, and she had three good years yet to live, but it had shaken him so to see her pale face and limp form that he’d never forgotten it. He remembered so vividly the blue skies and the wonderful heat of the day, how wrong it had felt in contrast to his grief.

He didn’t think often of the incident now, it had been so long since it had happened, but the day’s fine weather reminded him of it, along with the nature of his expedition; he was on a quest for one or several presents for his wife.

The memory did not affect him much, and could certainly not sour his high spirits. The only problem was that in his wanderings, he’d gotten quite lost. His coach was nowhere to be seen and neither were the servants. He’d planned on getting her something silly from one of the many markets and had gotten lost in the throng of people, for it was more crowded than it would have been on a rainy day. He’d noticed the prices dropping as he walked and finally found himself much further to the east than he was supposed to be. Every direction looked the same; he did not know which way to go. He looked left and right, turned in a circle, walked up the street, down the street, into an alleyway he would not have entered at night, back out, turned again in a circle and bumped into somebody by accent. It wasn’t the first time this happened, and not the first time he’d been shouted at, either.

“Oy! Look where you’re stomping, can’t you see the chap’s a cripple – _Thomas_?!” This was not a place he’d ever expect to be recognised, much less called by his Christian name.

When Lord Hamilton turned around he found two men staring at him. At first glance he wouldn’t have recognised Lieutenant McGraw at all, for he was not wearing his uniform. He had on only a pair of brown trousers, threadbare shoes and a shirt that surely had looked white at one point; it might’ve even fit him, decades ago, but it clung to him now. But what was even more surprising than his attire was the man at his side, one arm thrown over James’ shoulders while James had his own round the stranger’s middle. He was a plump man, short and homely-looking with several days of stubble on his face. But Lord Hamilton’s vision could focus only on that intimate point of contact where James’ hand pressed his friend’s side and kept them close together. For long moments he couldn’t look away, and when he was finally able, he felt almost faint. 

“James?” Searching, his eyes found James’ familiar face at last, and he was immediately struck still. James’ hair hung lose and curling, twisting around his face, caressing it with a lover’s touch before it spilled over his shoulders and brushed his chest just above where his – Lord Hamilton’s breath caught at the very thought – nipples must be hiding, pressing against his small shirt. James’ face was framed in the colour of burning gold in the sunlight of the day.

“Thomas, William, William, Thomas!” James’ frown slipped off his face as if it had never been there, and then it split in a wide smile the likes of which Lord Hamilton had never seen before, never thought him capable of. In his amazement he forgot all protocol, forgot the very existence of a world around them. Then William put his hand forward and Lord Hamilton shook it with some reluctance. It was sticky and clammy to the touch, and it was grounding.

“This your fine lord, then?” William didn’t try to hide his scrutiny as those from Lord Hamilton’s circles would, but his conclusions seemed to be favourable.

“I am,” Lord Hamilton stuttered.

“’s a pleasure, good sir! Do you care to join our fine party?” Sniggering unbecomingly, the men very well knew they could not be considered a ‘fine party’, and not for the lack of companions. But they seemed completely unaware of the fact that Lord Hamilton was experiencing such great inner tumult he could not begin to comprehend what in the world was going on. They swayed together in front of his eyes – he was fairly certain it was them and not himself – and that was when Lord Hamilton saw the bottle held loosely in the hand James didn’t clutch his friend with.

“We’re heading that-a-way!” James exclaimed, pointing the bottle at the very alley Lord Hamilton had just exited. “There’s a tavern or summat.” The thick drawl to James’ accent was entirely unknown to Lord Hamilton, and it threw him completely, for he had never considered that James might originally have had an accent.

“Oh, no, I really shouldn’t –” He felt colour rise to his cheeks but knew that he could not duck away and hide it.

“Come along, friend! I’ll tell you everything of Jenny’s less legal days!”

“It’s not yet one in the afternoon and you’re both very much intoxicated! I must refuse your kind offer.” In a matter of seconds his world had turned on its axis, he didn’t know this James McGraw, he didn’t know how to act around him and it was unsettling.

“Yes, come on Thomas! It’s the best time, not so many folks there then.” Together, James and William slowly made their way to the tavern, for they could hardly walk entangled with each other in that way; much less for the fact that what Lord Hamilton could see of William’s leg was gnarled and twisted. He hopped more than he walked, to not put much weight on it. “Are you comin’ or starin’ milord?” James threw at him. Lord Hamilton took a deep breath and followed them against all better judgement.

Lord Hamilton had to brace himself once outside the tavern door, but once on the other side of it he was pleasantly surprised. Not that it was a nice-looking place, but his expectations had been much more sinister. The sun slanted in the windows and illuminated the place, as it was not in the alley itself. A girl was mopping the floor and bringing cups back to the bar; the only spectacle for the few patrons who sat mostly in the shadows at the back. One such seemed to be sleeping.

James went immediately to get them drinks and his friend hobbled to a table by the windows. Trying not to show his distaste when examining the chair he would need to put in contact with his clothes, Lord Hamilton seated himself opposite the man.

“Who are you, exactly?” Lord Hamilton was keenly aware that he had attracted everyone’s attention upon arriving, and could not remember the last time he felt so uneasy.

“I’m Jimmy’s oldest friend, know him since he was born.” William nodded gravely.

“ _Jimmy_ ,” Lord Hamilton muttered to himself as the man in question returned to them with three cups in his capable hands. Lord Hamilton, feeling rather uncomfortable with the entire situation, immediately took a gulp and regretted it just after. He coughed and he spluttered and he wondered who the hell had set fire to his mouth. A low rumble spread through the room. He’d had everyone’s attention, and so everyone laughed when they heard his reaction, everyone except the sleeping old man who only hiccupped and slumped back in his chair.

“God, sir, that’s rum you’re gulping on, take it easy or we’ll ‘ave to carry you home!” However, James smiled kindly at him as if reassuring him that they would indeed do so, if the need arose.

“Why would anyone drink this?” Lord Hamilton stared at his cup as if it has personally offended him. “No, don’t answer. James, aren’t you supposed to be at the docks?”

“Wasn’t much to do today. I was supposed to be on my way to the pacific now actually; ship left some days ago. But then I got to be your liaison and had to stay here, and they mostly have the people they need, so Pickram said, and I quote; ‘fuck right off, McGraw, I can do this by myself, I don’t need your chaperoning!’ Because there were some captains and commodores people there today and he’d very much like to lick their arse and so here I am, content and shitfaced in a much more aggregable way.” William nearly drowned in his cup but grinned when he resurfaced from it. Lord Hamilton could hardly convince himself that it was his friend James who sat opposite him, because this man looked entirely content and carefree, a man younger by a decade at least. 

“Are you telling me you simply left?” Lord Hamilton spread his arms, palm up, across the table, showing his disbelief and demanding an explanation. His James would never do such a thing, he would find something do to instead.

“Ah, well –” James squirmed in his seat, “I might’ve told him that if one of us should leave he should, as I’m more better than him, and he told me where I could stuff my opinion and I told him where he’d like me to stuff it and that’s when he tackled me. Admiral Hennessey might’ve come over us and sent me home and put him to the shittiest things to do in favour of Lieut Oscar. His punishment was harsher because then all the others saw him like that.” James talked like a child, as if his tongue was too big for his mouth, slowly and thickly with much exaggerated hand movements, often hitting his friend in the arm or face. He now looked at Lord Hamilton with big, round eyes, his hair having fallen around his face to frame it – for he ran his hand through it and pushed it back earlier, making Lord Hamilton uncapable of drawing breath for seconds – and he was the very picture of youthful innocence.

“Always one to weasel yourself out of situations, you were,” William snickered and bumped into James’ shoulder, making James turn and smile at him so the creases around his mouth were more evident and his eyes twinkled as his features softened with affection. Lord Hamilton felt his chest tighten, growing too small for his vital organs to properly do their task. “You know,” William continued and looked with purpose at Lord Hamilton, “Jenny here – yeah, we called him that alright – always refused things he didn’a want to do. His pap wanted to bring him to the shop you know, was a carpenter, and that from when Jimmy was very young too. He went with him the first time and he came back and said to me, ‘I’ll die rather than go back there! My everything is sticky with stuff and the hammers hurt and I hit all my fingers and I hate it!’” While Lord Hamilton couldn’t believe his ears, James laughed boisterously.

“I did go back though, kicking and screaming, blue and yellow from where he gripped me. God, threatened to give Jenny to the brothel if I didn’t. Awful.”

“But then you worked it out, didn’t you?” James chuckled.

“Jenny wan’ed to go, begged pap all the time to take her instead, said she could learn better. He refused and almost put his hands to her. Then she said to me, six and a half, seven years old? ‘cut my hair, James, and we’ll fool him!’ I went with pap to the place and she went behind, and then when he was busy she went in and I got out. God, that girl. Tougher than any lass or lad I ever saw since, she was.”

“And your father never found out?” Lord Hamilton could scarcely believe his ears.

“’course he did. Not at once, he just thought I got real good real quick because she actually knew upside down of a nail and everyone praised her. Then when he found out, he couldn’t go tell everyone ‘yes, that’s my girl and she knows how to work better than my son does!’ Boxed me around the ears until they started ringing, though!” The men roared in laughter, and Lord Hamilton didn’t understand anything. Who could laugh at such memories?

“Oh, don’t look like that sir Thomas, he didn’t lose his wits nor his looks, I say it was good for him!” William exclaimed.

“Anyway, he soon stopped grumbling about it because one time Jen and mum was home and making dinner together and we all had the shits for a day after that, but then when Jenny went with him I could be home and cook when mum was working and I’d been spending time with Willy’s mum in their kitchens and I could cook so I made delicacies and saved money at the same time, so.” Puffing his chest out, James looked proud as a peacock.

“Delicacies! You lie, sir!”

“Oh, shut it, I did great with what I had to work with! It was much better than anything mum ever made and it actually tasted of food and not something found in the street. And that’s when I met that man at the market, you know, the one who let me borrow books.”

“But, how –” Lord Hamilton had too many questions and he wanted them all answered at the same time, so that he could answer the most important one; how on earth did James grow up to be the man he was today? He asked the first that came to mind. “How did you learn to read in the first place?” _And in such a home_ , thought he to himself. The men looked at each other with secret grins.

“We went to this little open theatre one night, sneaking away from home. They were playing something that had everyone clapping and crying and laughing. We went around the place later and snagged the texts, didn’t we?” James looked at his friend.

“Yes, and couldn’t understand a word. Took it to the pastor’s son and he taught James the letters in return for doing his work for him. Didn’t have any hope for me, I think.”

“And then I read it for you and taught you your lines.” James eyes glinted. “You know what we did, Thomas? I’ll tell you. We memorised part of the play, and I stood in the window on the second floor and Willy stood in the street and we recited to each other, how did it go?” James frowned, looking searchingly at his friend, and he supplied.

“Saw it not long ago actually. We usually did the part when I started with; ‘She speaks.  
O, speak again, bright angel! For thou art  
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head,  
As is a wingèd messenger of heaven  
Unto the white, upturnèd, wondering eyes  
Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him  
When he bestrides the lazy-puffing clouds  
And sails upon the bosom of the air.”

When it was James’s turn, he drew his brows together, put his hand to his chest and spoke in a high-pitched voice that sounded almost natural. “O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?  
Deny thy father and refuse thy name.  
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,  
And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.”

“Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?” William wondered silently, and James continued while holding his friend’s eyes steadfast.

“'Tis but thy name that is my enemy.  
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.  
What’s Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot,  
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part  
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!  
What’s in a name? That which we call a rose  
By any other word would smell as sweet.  
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called,  
Retain that dear perfection which he owes  
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,  
And for that name, which is no part of thee  
Take all myself.”

William’s eyes glittered, and he had to try twice before he could speak; “I take thee at thy word.  
Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptized.  
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.”

“What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night,  
So stumblest on my counsel?” James wondered, reaching toward William with his fingers.

“By a name  
I know not how to tell thee who I am.  
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself  
Because it is an enemy to thee.  
Had I it written, I would tear the word.” William’s voice was deep and true, unwavering, soothing. But Lord Hamilton heard the pain there as if it was his own.

“My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words  
Of that tongue’s uttering, yet I know the sound.  
Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?” And James put all the woman’s qualms in his voice and he lived them glancing at Lord Hamilton and their eyes met for a split second.

“Neither, fair maid, if either thee dislike.” There was a prolonged pause where the two men looked at each other, and James smiled waveringly at his friend.

“That’s just pieces of it,” James declared in a whisper as he put his arm around the other and rested his head on his shoulder. Lord Hamilton’s eyes were hot and he could not quite breathe.

“God, we loved it, we did.”

“Read it a hundred times, played it too, every day before my pap came home,” James admitted with a shy smile.

“There was that one time when he was early and he pulled you into the street and beat you bloody, though. Don’t think he appreciated it much when you took the lass’s part.”

“He didn’t appreciate anything with me, but he was already screaming sod at me so why should I care? Anyway, I always was prettiest so couldn’t right be you, could it!” Lord Hamilton choked on his drink again.

“Your own father called you a sodomite?”

“Called me? He beat me for it all the time. Would’ve probably been overjoyed when everyone thought it was me that put the child in Karen, but he was dead by then. Like I could’ve done it! I wouldn’t know what to do with a girl if they dumped one in my lap at the time.” Lord Hamilton drank deeply from his cup and managed to keep his composure even though he felt a grimace pull at his face.

“But – wasn’t that incredibly dangerous for you?” James huffed.

“Not in the least. All the others liked me – ‘cept the children – for I helped them all the time when they needed it. I was everyone’s favourite, and that’s why the children didn’t like me too.” Too overwhelmed by the information, Lord Hamilton had to search long for anything to say.

“He was a bit of a reckless one, wasn’t he?” William nodded eagerly.

“The most idiotic boy I’ve ever met. Got himself, and me, in trouble all the time. He was worse than all the other boys thinking themselves so bad and scary.”

“Shut it, you’re giving a bad image of me to my lord!”

“I think quite the opposite, actually.” That was the first time Lord Hamilton considered William the true genius behind all their ministrations, for despite his unimpressive appearance, he seemed in this moment quite perceptive. James rolled his eyes and went to fetch them more drink. “You take care of him, Hamilton, and don’t you do anything stupid.” In a second, William had gone from happy to melancholy, and Lord Hamilton found himself unable to look at him so troubled.

“What’s the worst he’s ever done?” he inquired then, hoping to turn the man’s thoughts to better memories, leaning forward eagerly.

“Worst, or most reckless? You’d like the second one best. You know, him and his sister were almost identical. You won’t believe it now, but he was a tiny lad, much smaller than me, and she was a big lass, they were of the same size even though it was almost a year between them. He got this idea when we passed some unsuccessful whores that he probably could do better than them, so he slipped into his sister’s dress and put stockings under the corset with a shawl over to make it look like he had something underneath there. He paraded himself on the street and told me, ‘if someone comes to me, you have to help me!’” James had come back and turned red in the face upon realising which story was being recounted. “So, I kept my eyes on him, you know; in a dress and looking like a nice little girl, batting his lashes at every man that went past and pulled their arms and their jackets, and it wasn’t long before someone said yes to him!” Lord Hamilton felt himself gape and chuckle in disbelief. He took a drink from his cup and realised with worry that it was not as awful as it had been earlier. He drank some more when James exclaimed: “I looked gorgeous!” and his blood ran hot.

“Lost your calling as a whore, you did! And they tried to bring him somewhere, you know, but every time he slipped away, or I distracted them. But it had to go wrong, ‘course it did. There was this man, what did he say?”

“He pressed me against the building behind me, whispering; ‘I know what you are’. I’ve never been so terrified. He took me by the elbow with this big, filthy hand and pulled me along down the street so quickly Willy couldn’t keep pace with us. I tried to wrangle free until I thought I was gonna break my arm and I wanted to scream but he said he’d tell everyone what I’d done and they’d hang me. Pulled me sideways through an alleyway, God, I still remember the stink, the cold, dark air in there.” James shook visibly at the memory. “He pushed me front first against the wall and I scraped my face up. He said; ‘you’re a lad, you are, but it doesn’t matter ‘cuz you’re just as warm’. I tried to get free, I swear, but he held me so tight I didn’t have a chance. Put his hand over my mouth and I didn’t even think to bite it. I thought he’d kill me, I knew it, and it was just –” James’s hands were visibly shaking atop the sticky table and Lord Hamilton’s cup was empty again.

“Then I finally found them in the dark and I threw a stone at the bastard. We made a run for it and I’ve never been comfortable in the dark since.”

“Yeah, and me with small alleyways!” Lord Hamilton felt utterly dazed, afraid upon hearing the story long years after the fact even though he knew that it didn’t turn too badly. William shifted awkwardly in his seat, looking guilty.

“This wasn’t supposed to be so sinister, I was just going to tell about the time he really was Jenny, is all.”

“I’m so incredibly sorry,” Lord Hamilton sniffed and took James’s hand where it lay on the table, ignoring their other companion. His eyes were now unquestionably watery. He often turned very emotional upon too much drink, and this was one such occasion.

“It’s alright, truly,” James said, but it didn’t help much because all Lord Hamilton could think was that James could’ve have… could’ve… he couldn’t even think it. Seeing his struggle, James moved to sit beside him and looked deeply into his face. Their knees bumped together. “Hey, it’s over. And I wasn’t hurt at all, I got my lesson.” Lord Hamilton swallowed thickly and nodded. James grinned. Then the church bells ran the hour over the big city. 

“Oh, dear God, the time!” Lord Hamilton sprung from his chair. “Miranda must be frantic wondering where I am, the carriage probably went home empty and she must think that I… dear God.” James rose as well, then Lord Hamilton payed their drinks and James and William walked him to a much more respectable street where several carriages were to be seen.

“It’s been a pleasure to meet you, sir Thomas.” Lord Hamilton nodded, still with watery eyes, and shook William’s hand affectionately.

“Thank you for taking care of him when he was young and _incredibly_ stupid!” Lord Hamilton hiccupped. “And goodbye, Jenny, I will see you in my salon on Saturday, will I not?”

“Yes.” James offered his hand too, Lord Hamilton held it gravely for long moments.

“You take care of yourself, will you?” James nodded in all seriousness, and Thomas found himself a carriage to return home to his worried wife. When she told him of her misery his tears finally fell and she embraced him with soothing words and ordered a big glass of water immediately.

When they retired that evening, and Lord Hamilton was no longer affected by his drinks, he asked his wife what kind of men wore female clothing to entertain themselves.

“Well,” replied she with a naughty smile, “I have heard it is quite popular among the male prostitutes.” It did little to calm the incredible currents of Lord Hamilton’s thoughts and emotions and he could not sleep for long hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine that, I gave you over 4k words of James history. What did you think? I know a lot of this seems very out of character for him, but there will be reasons later so please bear with me.
> 
> Ok, so I admit to being unsure about Romeo and Juliet in the beginning of the 18th century. I think they mostly played adaptations and in our year they would probably play The History and Fall of Caius Marius by Thomas Otway, and I have no idea if they could seen it in Padshaw, so let's just pretend that what they saw was a group of people travelling around and playing the real stuff :) I just really wanted it in there, please don't judge too harshly :)
> 
> Thoughts? I really hope you liked this because I finally get to parts which I've already planned in my head and I really hope they work on paper. If things seems odd to you, don't hesitate to tell me!
> 
> Thank you all for reading, you are wonderful!


	14. Chapter Thirteen

The entirety of Friday had Lord Hamilton in a flustered and confused state. His attention slipped every few minutes so that he had two letters only partly written on his desk, one draft of a speech for his orphan boys, topics to be broached and arguments to be delivered on the upcoming salon (although they were all jumbled and incomprehensible), a half-written invitation for James to join them for lunch on Saturday, and his plan for the pirates of Nassau. All the documents got a few minutes of attention in due order but by the time Miranda personally came with tea for him he had only written and thrown away three attempts at James’ invitation.

“Oh, Thomas,” Miranda sighed, and took the quill form him. She pulled forth a new scrap of paper and wrote hastily the following words: Dear James, Thomas would be very pleased if you would like to join us for lunch tomorrow before the salon. Let us know if you are amenable. Miranda Hamilton.

She snatched it from his reach and leapt from the room before he could protest, then sent it right away. Upon her return, her husband was leaning heavily on the desk before him. When she rounded the table he pulled her toward him by the middle and groaned into her skirts, clenching her hips between his ink-stained fingers.

“I’m going absolutely mad. Put me in Bethlem before I start raving, I beg of you.” Sliding his arms further around her, he pulled her even closer and made all escape impossible.

“Enough work. Come, Thomas, you need a break.”

“But I’ve barely done anything! I need to send these by – oh God, the letter to Sir Edward Ward, the _Lord Chief Baron of the Exchequer_ is already late and he has never liked me. The man is so full of himself I wonder how he can have dinner. Oh, dear.” The distress in his voice was unmistakable, and only further convinced his wife that she was right when saying; “Thomas! Come. After having laid down for a while we’ll return here, and I will write the letter for you, is that acceptable?” Like an old and tired dog, Lord Hamilton rose and followed his master to the second drawing room. Miranda sat down and gestured for him to put his head in her lap, which he then did and kicked his shoes off to better put his feet on the pillows. “What’s bothering you, my love?”

“There is so much to _do_! It has me paralysed and unfocused on every task because I can think only of all the other things that also needs doing and nothing makes sense in my head. Sometimes I want to run around the gardens barefooted in hopes of releasing bad energy.”

“Then you should do that,” Miranda replied, only half in jest. He buried deeper in her skirts.

“I would look like an idiot,” came his muffled response.

“You are an idiot, and I thought you cared naught for what people thought of you.”

“Others, yes!” Lord Hamilton rolled onto his back and waved his hands. “But what of what I think of myself?” Miranda snatched the hand that was closest to her and brought it to her lips, nibbled at the tips of his fingers, ghosted the back of it with a warm breath and pressed a kiss to his palm before tasting his wrist, pulling a sigh from him. Then she sucked down his thumb and bit it playfully, shaking her head and the digit violently until she pulled a laugh from him. “I think you’ve forgotten that you became a woman some time between our marriage and now,” her husband commented.

“I will always be a girl at heart, my lord.”

“I should hope so. Oh, darling, you are my sun and my stars and my moon. You are everything that brings light to my world.” Miranda filled the room with delighted laughter and he joined her quickly, but he also turned pink in the face for he had said the same thing years ago, in a valiant attempt at being romantic. He had gotten the same reaction then.

*

Saturday morning was spent dancing. Ophelia was not a natural on the piano, but could play them a melody when asked. Lord Hamilton had always been fond of dancing and in his pursuit of attaining a certain level of elegance, he became a master, but he had never seen it as an intimate act. Holding a woman’s hand, but keeping her at a safe distance, had never felt romantic until he first danced with his wife and she demonstrated how one is supposed to seduce with the eyes quite effectively. His enjoyment of dancing increased by a great deal, but it could not compare with what he learnt in Germany a few years after their marriage.

Lord Hamilton was visiting an old schoolmate who brought him to a very unsophisticated country dance that he would never forget. He learnt quickly the steps of the _Weller_ and continued to swirl every woman in the room. He brought it with him upon returning to England and taught his wife immediately. Since then they danced often in the privacy of their own home, for Miranda was as ecstatic about the dance as he was.

What it lacked in elegance, it made up for in proximity, for their bodies were pressed tightly together; their faces would have touched if the difference in height had not been so great. Lord and Lady Hamilton spun around on the floor that Saturday until their legs ached and poor Ophelia’s fingers cramped over the keys.

So enraptured was Lord Hamilton in the intimacy of the dance that he didn’t notice McGraw entering the room. The music stopped for a heartbeat, but he danced on to Ophelia’s whispered; “James, come here and hush!” Lord Hamilton heard footsteps over the floor, got a glimpse of James, and continued dancing, looking down at his wife who smiled so innocently at him that he grew immediately concerned. She pulled him tighter, turned them faster, and raised higher on her toes to get their faces closer together, so close in fact that her nose bumped slightly against his mouth and it must’ve looked as if they were kissing. Lord Hamilton could not have moved his eyes from hers if he had wanted, and he did not.

Time seemed to be of little consequence and his aches were forgotten. They shared the air between them, he felt every fold in his wife’s skirt and her bosom lay hotly and insistently against his chest. The thought of James came to him, and he knew with a spark, like a shock, that he was watching them in this most intimate act, and he did not think of him as an intruder or an alien but rather as if the final piece of grand puzzle had found its way at last and completed what had before only appeared a thing wholly formed.

Their dance slowed steadily until they were still at last, and gazed upon each other for long seconds before breaking apart. “Surely you know this dance, James.” Lord Hamilton went to the piano and drunk deep from his water, Miranda pulled along by the hand.

“I’ve seen something of the like before, in very different circumstances. I never thought you would know it; it’s indecent to say the least.” Lord Hamilton grinned slyly and took James to his study with orders for the servants to prepare their meal.

“Not as indecent as some of the things I heard about yourself on Thursday, James,” he stated then, and leant against his desk, relaxed. James stiffened immediately upon his words, and adopted his military stance.

“Mr Smith goes loose-lipped with spirits and he speaks in hyperbole. But I will not lie and tell you that it is untrue. However, it is only half the story. I was a ship’s boy from nine years of age and spent only short intervals at home; I had to take advantage of what free time I had, and so I did things I otherwise would not have.”

“You misunderstand me, I did not try to accuse you of anything. I admit to growing almost envious of your freedom, although I realise that it is very backwards. I understand that your actions were meant to further agitate your disapproving father and I admire you for that. It is a thing I could never do in the same scale. My relationship with my father is not a good one either, but I have never been able to be in open rebellion against him like you have yours; he has always been much too influential.” James relaxed somewhat, and leant his shoulder against the wood of one of the bookcases, crossing his arms over his chest. “I was glad to hear more of your past and where you come from; I admit to some curiosity, and especially how you went from there to here, although I admit to becoming only more surprised at your strong character when I know more of your upbringing.”

“It is a question easily answered; Admiral Hennessey. He was at first a Lieutenant on the ship I was on and, he’s told me, he immediately saw that I had potential. As he became more influential, he gained the power to give me opportunities I otherwise would’ve been denied. He has taught me a lot.” James had a smile on his face when talking of the Admiral that Lord Hamilton had never seen in other circumstances. There was awe in it, a great admiration, and also a degree of familiarity that he had not anticipated.

“You seem to have great respect for him,” Lord Hamilton mused.

“He is incredibly proficient, a great inspiration to all others. He is everything that an Admiral should be.” Lord Hamilton nodded, content with that answer if somewhat surprised at the depth of the sentiment.

“James, I wanted to say, in relation to what your father said about you – I, well. I simply wanted to say that it matters little.” He heard immediately that he had not successfully delivered his message, and the way James’ face twisted confirmed it.

“What? It wouldn’t matter if I were a sodomite?”

“I only mean to say – it doesn’t matter what people think of you or say of you, it matters only what you think of yourself. Your life is not their concern unless you want it to be, unless you wilfully share it with them and let it be so.” James looked away then, in shame or insecurity.

“It is not always so easy for us common folk, my lord, but I admire your carefree nature.” Lord Hamilton thought he might’ve wounded him, then, for it was no secret that James was not in a position to be so careless. “Shall we eat?”

So, they did, and James received his first lesson in Spanish. “El tenedor,” Miranda said, and pointed her fork threateningly at him. “El cuchillo,” was picked up next, and she carved her “comida”. It went on for the entirety of the meal, and James repeated the words back to her. When she quizzed him about certain words, he always remembered them and the flicker of pride within him, that lopsided smile he seemed to have permanently adopted, only further endeared him to the Hamiltons. He looked not unlike a pup learning new tricks. Pointing at Lord Hamilton, Miranda said; “Él es un pintamonas.” And James repeated the words back at her, telling Lord Hamilton promptly that he was someone deluded into thinking he was talented. Miranda coughed into her napkin to disguise her laughter, but Lord Hamilton didn’t bat an eye, and replied coolly;

“And should you grow tired of her never-ending blabbering, you can simply tell her; No tengo el chichi pa farolillos.” There was no concealing her laughter this time as Lady Hamilton shrieked in her seat and couldn’t be silenced for minutes, at which point they were all snickering and Lord Hamilton had explained that it simply meant ‘I’m not in the mood to listen to you’, although James surmised that that was not all. At some later occasion, Lord Hamilton decided, he would tell the man that it meant, if one were to translate literally; ‘I do not have the cunt for little lanterns’.

They retired to the second drawing room after their meal and Lady Hamilton draped herself over a divan, looking elegant despite her unsophisticated ways.

“Servant Thomas, come massage my poor feet, for they are so abused!” moaned she with much exaggerated grievance in her voice and a haughty twitch to her pained face.

“I shall not touch thee, wicked wench,” was his answer, and Lieutenant McGraw stared at them with bemusement which soon let on the quickly developing warmth he clearly held for them and their untraditional manners.

“James, would you be a dear and fetch me something intriguing from that shelf over there?” Miranda asked instead, and pointed, looking quite the spoilt little girl.

“No. And I’m not a dear; I’m a man of the navy and I obey only those who cane me if I don’t.” Lord Hamilton snickered but his wife seemed to have been handed an opportunity on a silver platter.

“Well then. Thomas, where do we keep that riding crop? It should be sufficient, I believe.” McGraw leapt to his feet as his face turned an impressive shade of pink, and grabbed the first book he could reach off the shelf, then pushed Miranda’s legs from the divan and settled beside her to read aloud. Miranda was overjoyed at this reaction and Lord Hamilton not less so, studying them with joy, for they made a beautiful picture. Miranda had sat up and pulled her legs underneath her, James sat as he always did; his posture perfect yet relaxed, feet planted firmly on the floor, knees parted, and the book nestled snugly in his lap. Miranda had put her elbow over the back of the divan and her hand was almost touching James’s shoulder which she leant over to see the text he was reading for her. Their easy familiarity came somewhat as a surprise, and Lord Hamilton suspected that they had seen each other without his knowledge. A spark of unwanted envy ignited in him for a second, but he did not care to analyse it for he knew all the reasons why he might be feeling it and didn’t want either of them to be true.

But it was only a spark, and it was rapidly made inconsequent for the sheer happiness he felt at looking at them in such a way and it occurred to him how much he had come to care for James McGraw, and how much he felt himself dependent on him. He imagined what it might be if the man should die in an accident on the morrow, and he found himself horrified at the thought of never having the opportunity to speak with him again, to have him here in easy domesticity, needing only his presence to feel a sort of calm about him. The ferocity of the feeling surprised him, for he had barely noticed how it had grown until it was there, already fully formed and burning.

Lord Hamilton pulled forth a half-written letter and set himself to completing it by the window while half-listening to his wife and James muttering to each other in whispers.

It was a peaceful day, more so than expected. The servants were well-versed in how to make ready for the salon, so they migrated outside and strolled in the gardens. The weather was so fine now that the men were in their waistcoats and still warm despite the breeze, and the flowers had sprung all about them in a living, breathing bouquet of sweet perfumes.

They were there until the first guest arrived, and they talked about all that could be talked about. James told of his visits to the new world and described an ocean with the colour and intensity of Thomas’ eyes but stretching on forever, sand so warm and soft to the feet one might never want to leave, and exotic animals that he couldn’t name at all but which all spiked his curiosity. Lord Hamilton could see how his wife yearned for the image, and was not untouched by the feeling himself for James was so eloquent when telling his stories it was clear that he was an eager reader. Lord Hamilton himself remained unusually passive, for he was so content with observing the easiness with which Lieutenant McGraw now conversed with them that he did not want to interrupt himself in the small indulgence. Miranda, however, also spoke freely and with great energy. Their gentle back and forth was both entertaining and intriguing to be spectator to.

That evening they talked of freedom. Of the right to self-govern. Of the perils concerning colonisation and slavery. It was a difficult night, for a great number of the men there not only profited from the colonisation but also saw not the wrong in thinking negroes their inferiors for their lack of science and social structure, for their simple ways of life and their false gods. 

Lord Hamilton was called hypocrite, for wasn’t he just now working on pacifying his own colony? Or perhaps he meant to compromise English rule there? It was dangerous territory, for they talked in jest and he did not. But he did get support, and he knew that Miranda and James were his advocates in this, where they walked together around the room and spoke with group after group. The two of them together, Lord Hamilton realised, must be a fearsome thing and an unstoppable force, with their equally quick wit and sharp tongue. They would convince with brute force whereas he would try with soft words, using pathos and logos in equal measure, however he despaired as they considered it their Christian duty to govern in place of teach and help.

He grew frustrated and could not hide it for his hair was in a dreadful state, but the heated discussions were what he looked for when he first started arranging frequent salons of the kind, and despite feeling as if he got little headway there were small compromises being agreed upon throughout the night. He would take every small victory; they had to start somewhere.

He was smiling at the end of the night for it had been such a lively evening; it was a victory in itself that most every discussion had been heated.

“Don’t look so smug, it’s unbecoming,” Peter grunted at the end, and shared a wink with Nathaniel.

“You’re only afraid that I might get them all to agree with me and you’ll never make a profit again.”

“And what about yourself?”

“Me? I’m sure I could be a librarian or something of the like. Goodnight old dogs, my bed is calling.”

“I’m not so sure it’s the bed you’re hearing,” Nathaniel said knowingly, “your wife looks stunning in red, and I must say you’re not so bad yourself. Goodnight, and do try to get some sleep. Ah, to be young again.” Once they were gone, Lord Hamilton found James and his wife still talking in the library. He pressed himself between them and put his arms around their shoulders heavily.

“My sweet, my wife, it is time to retire.”

“I wouldn’t call the Lieutenant sweet, Thomas, I’d rather go with sour. Bull-headed might also fit nicely – old and grumpy certainly can’t be overlooked. Oh, look, it is past midnight; we must insist that you take the carriage, Lieutenant.” James was ushered out, already half asleep on his feet, and man and wife retired together to bed.

“Miranda, I think we’re scaring him,” Lord Hamilton confessed from the inside of his shirt. He shimmied out of his breeches and almost tripped over a leg as he hurried to help his wife with her corset.

“Us? The blame is yours entirely. And I think he should handle it, he is a man of the Royal Navy after all.”

“You flirted with him all day. It was not me who called him too proper.” Her breasts sprung free and Lord Hamilton took them in his large hands, pressing his front to her back and touched her just so.

“Does that bother you?” She half turned to look at him.

“Of course not, it’s endearing to see his blushes, you are cruelly relentless.” Relieving her of the rest of her clothing, Lord Hamilton pulled his wife beneath the covers and let his hands caress her soft skin, roaming freely and with little purpose but to feel their skin together and her warmth, her softness.

“You are teasing, you shouldn’t tease me so, Thomas,” was her breathy answer and he pulled one of her small, dark nipples between his fingers and twisted gently.

“But I’m feeling quite in the mood. Will you have me?” He hadn’t expected her to push him gently away.

“Are you certain?”

“Absolutely.” She kissed him, then, and let her hand travel down his slim form to close around his member and find him already affected.

“Hm,” hummed she into a kiss, “this needs to be noted for all time to come.” He hushed her quite effectively with his lips and caressed her side, feeling her body curve softly and give under his fingers as he pressed. His hand travelled further down and traced circles in the area around her hipbone where he knew she was particularly sensitive. “Allow me to wet you, then, please,” she pleaded, and he put himself on his back, letting her kiss and caress her way over chest, protruding ribs and a soft stomach which lead no trail for her, but she found her way anyway and when she did he gasped in sudden pleasure because it had been so long since he’d felt a hot, wet, heat surround the most sensitive part of him that he had forgotten what it was like. He closed his eyes and he felt only the drag of tongue and lips over his length and the sheets of silk under him.

When he felt his thighs begin to tremble, his wife stopped her ministrations and mounted him the way she liked, but did not pull his hand to pleasure herself further; he only rested his hands on her thighs as she moved, and it was good – it was beyond good.

It did not end in disaster as it had on occasions in the past. Miranda worked herself to completion with measured thrusts of her hips and she gasped his name in his ear. He was not entirely present, his mind was elsewhere, but perhaps that was why she could bring him to his own completion just moments later, making him groan in surprise as it came over him so suddenly, on the passing thought of a lopsided smile in sunlight. He twisted up against her and she pressed down to take him deeper, then went willingly when he pulled her down and gasped wordlessly into her hair, sliding his fingers through it violently and clenched it. With a last few tremors he settled and tried to regain his breath.

When he opened his eyes at last, he was met with the sight of his dishevelled wife, her hair in every direction and her skin alight with blush in the candlelight.

“It’s been a while.” Miranda’s smile was soft enough to break hearts, her giddy blissfulness enough to mend them. Lord Hamilton rolled them around and pressed her into the pillows with his lips on hers and they stayed that way for long minutes, in a sated embrace, to let their breathing settle and to feel each other’s closeness.

At long last, Lord Hamilton stood and fetched a towel to clean them rapidly. His limbs were useless once he was back beneath the covers, all tension and every ache had abandoned him, and he would not let Miranda from his arms before morning come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be up yesterday but I suddenly got a lot to do.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this little fluffy piece because some shit's about to go down :)
> 
> The dance is an early form of waltz that was limited to the lower classes at the time.
> 
> I admit that the spanish phrases might not have existed at the time, I really don't know, but I found them fitting and funny so here we are :)
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, commenting and leaving kudos, you're incredible!


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Miranda had told him of being in love. He recognised the various feelings every time he thought of her, and yet something was still lacking, something he couldn’t quite put into words, something beside the absence of sexual desire.

His hands had been inexplicably drawn to James the day before. In the gardens their fingers had brushed as they walked. They had sat down for some time, and upon rising he’d put his hand on James’ bent knee without consideration. He’d adjusted the man’s cravat before returning inside and more than once had he taken hold of his elbow to draw his attention. On every single one of these instances, Lord Hamilton felt as if he would be unable to let go. The simple touch set such churning in his stomach, brought to his consciousness such longing that he could barely control himself. How could the strong curve of a jaw be so inviting? How could a careful smile be so tempting? Lord Hamilton ached to put his mouth there, to taste that smile and swallow that laughter. He had never experienced the like before, it was like a living thing inside him constantly telling him; _do it! touch him like a lover would_. It had reminded him of the way Miranda talked when she spoke of being in love.

It went against his nature to turn James out that night and he had not been able to completely let go of him in his mind. It was with some concern that he realised it was James’ smile he thought of when lying with his wife, and not only that; he suspected it was the way James flustered him that made him initiate the act to begin with. It was dangerous territory, but Lord Hamilton did not know that he could do anything to stop this thing that he was feeling. It didn’t help that James seemed only to grow more comfortable with the thought of familiarity between them, and however much he tried, Lord Hamilton found himself unable to be dissuaded by the way James looked at Miranda. James’ eyes lingered often on her; sometimes they were on her bosom, her face, tracking and appreciating, but Lord Hamilton was glad to see that for the most part, James seemed to forget himself when she was speaking, as though he drank up the way her lips moved and her features changed when delivering an impressive argument or otherwise expressing intellectual superiority.

“Miranda?” Lord Hamilton asked amiably during supper. “Have you seen James without my presence?”

“Yes, he has come two times to call on you when you’ve been away. I managed to make him stay for a glass of wine and a friendly discussion each time. I thought it unfair that you have had the opportunity to spend so much time with him, and I so little in comparison. I was supposed to tell you, but then you were talking so excitedly on both occasions that I completely forgot.”

“No problem, I simply wondered as he seems more comfortable with you now than before.” In truth, Lord Hamilton was reluctant to speak of James in Miranda’s presence. She was so very perceptive, and he was so very confused. He kept his conversation light, superficial, if he could, but he could not avoid talking of him altogether, for he found that it was all he truly wanted to talk about.

He retired alone that night, overwhelmed by the memory of their coupling the night before – what if Miranda wanted it again? he knew he would be unable – and afraid of her conversation, for the look in her eyes throughout the day had been telling; she knew that something was mulling constantly in his mind and had her suspicions regarding what it was.

Thus, he expected to remain entirely unperturbed that night. He had high hopes that he would have the privacy to consider quietly his problem, figure out a way past it, and so be completely at ease about the matter of Lieutenant James McGraw in the future. He thought it went rather splendidly, and saw no fault in his plan of concealing his growing – dare he even think it – attraction to McGraw, but also remain fast friends and confidants.

It is as such things always are, for when considering from a distance and with a cool mind, it seems perfectly logical that one should easily be able to follow such instructions as one has given to oneself. It is so easy to forget how the human emotions are not logical on the best of days, which is why those plans always seem to fall through, despite their watertight appearance. Lord Hamilton had little experience in this field, and was therefore quite content with his musings to the point of congratulating himself on an issue well managed.

Only a few hours of naively comfortable sleep separated the making of the plan and its failing.

The room was in complete darkness when the door rattled in such a way that Lord Hamilton was pulled from his sleep with a gasp and a suddenly galloping heart. He sat up as the door shook with the violent turning of the knob, but did not open. He could not breathe, he could not move. They were being robbed, he was certain. Robbed and killed in their beds. Oh, if he had only taken fencing lessons! As it was, the thought of fighting didn’t enter his mind but for that one flash of regret. Perhaps when they were unsuccessful in entering they would turn away, Lord Hamilton hoped naively, although he knew that the door was not bolted.

“Fuck!” someone growled from the outside, then suddenly the door flew inward, and the person tumbled gracelessly to the floor. “Shit. Thomas! Thomas! Where the fuck.” James didn’t stand, he crawled around the floor like an overgrown baby, making as much sense. Lord Hamilton’s heart did not stop its valiant attempt at leaving his chest in fright.

“James?” Immensely glad that he had slept in a nightshirt, Lord Hamilton slipped cautiously from the bed. He could see the man’s outlining in the light from the hallway; he was curled on the floor, arms shaking under his own weight. He drew a long, wheezing breath and his entire body gave a violent shudder.

“Thomas!” Never had he heard such anguish expressed with his name, never had he thought James could hurt so. Pushing away every question and every concern that he had, Lord Hamilton dove to the floor and put his arm around James’ middle, heaving him up with all his might. James stank of alcohol and sick and a metallic smell that was just as appalling as the others, although Lord Hamilton did not know what it was.

He got the man’s arm over his own shoulders and supported his weight from his bedchamber, through halls that seemed endless, until they reached the second drawing room where there were still some sparks to be found in the fireplace. He helped James into a seat and immediately set to lighting every candle and every lamp he could find, until the room was awash with the soft flickering of small flames. Despite having little experience with it, he managed to stir the fire with help from straw and wood, and could finally return to a much distressed lieutenant. What he saw when he turned made him immediately sick to the stomach. James looked as if he’d killed some wild animal by ripping it to pieces with his teeth. His cheeks and chin, and even his lips, were painted with blood, his dirty shirt was sagging with the alarming substance, and Lord Hamilton felt himself go lightheaded. This had not been a simple brawl.

“Lord give me strength.” James sat with his hands in his lap, curling in on himself. He struggled with drawing breath, it was clear, and he would not stop shaking. Lord Hamilton could not convince himself to approach him.

“He’s dead,” James muttered. “Dead, he’s dead.” Again, he repeated it, and lifted his hands to look at them in wonder, perhaps astonished that they could perform such an act. Lord Hamilton could not stay in the room with the man for a moment longer. And to think that he thought he knew him! To think that he thought himself harbouring feelings -! He found Miranda’s door in a daze and woke her without thought.

“James is here,” he began frantically, “in the drawing room, he’s covered in blood! Miranda, he killed someone, he… he.” Lord Hamilton faltered. Repeating himself several times at Miranda’s command, the situation had finally been laid out for her. “What am I supposed to do with him? He killed someone!”

“Do you know that? Did he tell you?”

“No, but –”

“Thomas, you fool! Go speak with him, right this instance! It sounds as if he is in great need of a friend!”

“He murdered someone with his bare hands!” The thought hit harder upon expressing it. Lord Hamilton nearly retched.

“You don’t know that!” yelled she, and Lord Hamilton was up and out before he could make a conscious decision of doing so.

He approached James warily, and sat down on his knees in front of him, at a safe distance. “James?” he asked, as if the grown man was but a spooked animal, “what are you doing here? Who’s dead?”

“He’s dead,” James said with a thick voice and looked up at last. His tear-stained face held nothing but the deepest of anguish. It could be seen through the blood that covered him, in his sore, red eyes and in the wet, abused lips, where strings of snot and spit were mingling with the blood. The way his expressive eyebrows slanted, the forlorn look in his eyes made James resemble a pup that had been kicked one time too many, and did no longer know what to do on its own. It searched for pity wherever it might be found as a last resort, having no longer the pride to refrain.

“Who is dead, James?” Lord Hamilton did not want to hear the answer, for he had his suspicions. No, he wanted to shy away, to not speak of it, not hear a word of it. He was a coward.

“They pulled him out, beat him in the street like a dog.” Oh, but James was supposed to be strong, his voice was supposed to be firm and controlled, not shaking like a leaf in autumn, vulnerable like a child! “I couldn’t – couldn’t…” He drew in a breath and new tears welled in his piercing green, down-turned eyes. James’ lip trembled, and it was a knife to Lord Hamilton’s heart for he could do nothing. “He was already dead. His mother, the wailing –” James hiccupped, then screamed so suddenly Lord Hamilton fell over with shock. “They beat him! They didn’t stop! They never stopped! He was already dead, and they beat him!” The entire household must’ve been awakened and at last Lord Hamilton had the presence of mind to move to silence him.

“Stop, James stop it! I can’t bear it, be silent, please!” He wanted to scream himself, he wanted to weep and yell at James to _stop it!_ To _stop hurting so because it was killing him!_ He could only beg, but James heard, and his outburst ceased but his chest was heaving with uncontainable fury.

Miranda came and interrupted the following silence, heavy enough to feel like thick mist surrounding them in the room. “Here, drink this.” Lord Hamilton took it first and sniffed it.

“Are you mad? Can’t you smell the alcohol on him? Get him water, and let no one enter!” When she was gone, Lord Hamilton immediately crawled closer to the madman on the couch, kneeling where James’ feet were tripping on the floor. A finger under the man’s chin urged him to look up, and Lord Hamilton felt at last as if he could put on an expression of tenderness to cover his ever growing hysteria. He would be brave, now. James needed him to be brave. “Tell me what happened, please.” He drew himself closer with a firm hand on James’ thigh, and James’ cheek chased the warmth of his other one, so Lord Hamilton cupped his face and watched as James pushed into it, letting his eyes fall closed – spilling tears – and go entirely slack.

“It was his father, William’s father.” His voice was a shaky rasp, it sounded as if the simple act of speaking hurt, but he soldiered on. “Found them in bed and pulled him to the street. The other one must’ve gone away, but Willy can’t run well with his leg.” Lord Hamilton never thought he would hear James sob, and he wished he never had, for his heart broke with it. He continued with a painful grimace. “She said – the mother – that he screamed and raved so that several others also got angry and joined him when he started the -. Mad, they were, completely. Oh, she was screaming for me when I came up the road, said –” James’ breathing grew more erratic, he heaved only short bursts of air. “’Save him, Jimmy, save him, they’re killing him’. God. I got through, there was a – big mass of people about him, watching, but I got through and tore them away from him! But they beat him! And beat!” James was snarling at the end, and he lifted his fists, which were as bloody as his shirt but ruined with cuts as well. “They wouldn’t stop, I had to stop them! But once I began, I was so angry!” Miranda came standing beside them with a glass of water. She brought a bucket which she had hidden skilfully behind Lord Hamilton’s back. James was silent save for gasping for breath for long minutes, but managed to calm himself slowly.

Miranda handed the glass to him and he emptied it. She had brought a jug. James continued with his deep, broken voice. “They let go and I could get to him in peace, but his face was – I couldn’t see that it was him. He was long dead.” James took one last breath before the dams of his grief broke entirely and he fell into Lord Hamilton’s surprised arms with a cry pulled directly from his very core. All his senses were attacked, but despite the revolting smell of him, Lord Hamilton pulled James in and held him as he gasped and sobbed, and the force of it shook them both. James’ bloody fingers buried themselves in Lord Hamilton’s hair and dug painfully into his scalp and he was pulled closer, always closer in desperation. If he could only take some of James’ pain on himself, he would. Instead, he drew the man in by his middle and James’s knees bracketed Lord Hamilton’s sides from where he was still kneeling on the floor.

They had clutched each other for minutes before James started to calm again, and Lord Hamilton began rocking them softly. It was the wrong thing to do. James turned from him and Miranda was barely quick enough to pull the bucket in front of him before James retched in violent heaves. He sunk to the floor and emptied his stomach into the bucket. It seemed endless. The smell of it made Lord Hamilton nearly join him, the sound of it echoed wetly in the room. At last, Lord Hamilton felt his own tears fall from his eyes and burn down his cheeks, etching lines into his skin. How could James, his brave navy officer, have turned into such a wreck?

When it was over, James took the glass offered by Miranda, refilled. He rested there on the floor in complete silence until he was certain that he was finished. Miranda took the bucket gingerly and brought it away.

“Tell them to draw a bath. And I want their complete discretion, there will be no talk of what happened here tonight.” Lord Hamilton whispered. Then: “I’m so sorry, James. I’m so incredibly sorry you had to witness such a thing.” His own voice was only a hoarse whisper, fragile and ashamed of its incompetence. He thought of nothing else to say.

“I screamed at them until I lost my voice. I wanted to hurt them, I wanted to kill them all. But they said, ‘do you sympathise with the sodomite?’ They said I was just like him, then, and that they should kill me too.” A twisted, satisfied smile spread across James’ face. It was ugly. “No one dared touch me. But, they said they’d bring someone, to see me hanged, and the mother.” James’ eyes grew distant, as if he was seeing again what had happened. “She wailed and screamed, cursing them for what they did to her son. Was he still her son? When she knew he was a buggerer? No, she must reject him, surely, for his _sick ways_ , they said. To ask a mother to reject her only child, and so soon after his passing! It is not right!” James whimpered. “She raised him! She fed him as a babe and watched him grow and smile and laugh. She loved him even as he hobbled with me down the street, crippled and ugly, but God, she loved him! It is not right to ask that of a mother! Mothers love their children, it’s what they do! He was hers and she loved him! They can’t ask her to do such a thing! It’s not right!” James was clutching Lord Hamilton’s shirt, pressing his face into his shoulder and vibrating with every wheezing breath he drew.

“It’s not right. I know, James, it’s not right.”

“And I never knew. He never told me was… that he liked –”

“But, James, of course he didn’t –”

“But he could have told _me_! He should’ve told me! And do you know what his mother said to me, when they’d taken him away to put him in a shallow grave in unholy ground? She said: ‘thank you, James. Thank you for always helping him, for being there. He loved you, and I do too, always’.” It was the most pained James had sounded the night together. “But me? I left him, I left him in Padstow to fend for himself. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have!”

They had to wait some time for the bath to be drawn, and Lord Hamilton spent it trying in vain to soothe James and stop his trembling. He wanted to be sick himself, to lie back and do nothing, to fall asleep and forget all that he’d heard, but he could not when James was so upset, so he pushed his own emotions to the back of his consciousness and focused solely on the man still clutching him. He held James between his arms, felt every ridge in his back as he stroked him – felt how powerful he truly was and yet, how small he seemed now, how weak and defenceless! He did not know how much time passed, only that it passed slowly and in misery.

When the bath was drawn at last, Miranda sent all the servants standing curiously in the hallways to bed, and Lord Hamilton led James undisturbed to the chamber.

“I don’t want anyone to enter, and I think it best that you return to yourself, Miranda. I’ll see him safe to sleep. Would you send a servant in the morning to fetch him proper clothes?” An inquiry later had James give over the key to his lodgings, and they were assured that the coachman knew the address. When they were alone at last, Lord Hamilton took a moment to gather his wits. “James, if you would get in the tub? Be careful, it might be hot. It would be best if you strip. I will fetch you a shirt of mine that you can borrow; your clothes are soiled.” He left the room before James could begin relieving himself of his garments and knocked before entering again. James had reclined in the hot water, entirely naked judging by the pile of clothing beside him. He looked almost asleep.

“Thank you,” James rasped.

“Will you let me help you wash?” There was a grunt, and Lord Hamilton took it as one of consent, sliding to his knees beside the tub. He rolled his own shirt to his elbows and dipped a piece of cloth in the soapy water, then preceded to wash the blood and sweat and grime on James’ chest with long, careful strokes. He couldn’t help noticing the width of James’ shoulders and the way they were littered with freckles that stood out against pale skin. His chest was big and firm and even there the light dusting of hair was of a ginger hue. Lord Hamilton wondered if all his hair was of that colour, but quickly stopped his mind from straying, as his absent-minded strokes went too far down his body.

One by one, he took James’ hands and arms and cleaned them too, before he realised that he should have started with his face. Immediately he took another piece of cloth and wetted it, bringing it to brush gently over James’ cheekbones, his forehead, rubbed carefully over his nose. Lord Hamilton used his thumb to clean the stretch of skin between James’ nose and his mouth, then went around his mouth and let his fingers wash over his lips, and Lord Hamilton could only see how he pulled at them, touched them at last, but only so, with his hand covered. It could’ve been an intimate touch – it was an intimate touch – but Lord Hamilton could not say if the intimacy was wanted.

After careful ministrations, James’ face was his own again, but he had not looked at Lord Hamilton once when he had worked on him, had only sat limply, shivering despite the hot water. Lord Hamilton pushed him forward and washed the wide expanse of his back, just as he marvelled at it. The strength of it, for his muscles were neatly defined, and the innocence of it, for he did not know how else to describe the freckles; he had always thought of freckles as something that adorned children’s faces, not the bodies of grown men.

“Shall I wash your hair, too?” James nodded and went under the water for a second to wet it all. Lord Hamilton poured oil over his fingers and put them to James’ hair with something resembling trepidation. It was difficult, at first, to run his fingers through the long tresses, but the oil worked to purpose, and soon his fingers slid easily through the silky hair. He couldn’t stop himself from watching how the dark red colour of it contrasted against his own pale hand. He massaged James’ scalp as he let the oil work, pulling soft moans from the man’s lips at his ministrations, and every time he thought he might go mad with it. It was such a beautiful uttering; he wanted only to hear it again and again, to listen forever to that alone.

Then he gently guided James under the water and did his best to rub the oil from his hair. None the less, he had James lean forward so he could pour clean water from the pitched over it, to rid him of as much soap and oil as he could. When all was done, he handed James a towel and sat on a chair beside the bed, facing away from James as he dried himself and slipped into the shirt Lord Hamilton had brought for him.

James slipped beneath the heavy blankets of the bed, and Thomas almost joined him there. But James could not hold his eyes open, although he stopped Lord Hamilton when he tried to leave.

“Would you read something?” Lord Hamilton could not resist. As quickly as possible, he fetched Marcus Aurelius’ _Meditations_ , and sat himself on the chair by James’ bed, reading philosophy to him in only his nightshirt until the other fell into a deep, drunken sleep.

*

James was already awake when his clothing was delivered and pulled them on rapidly. He came to the breakfast room looking quite upset. Lord Hamilton could guess why.

“I have sent word to Admiral Hennessey and told him that I needed you today for a very urgent matter. In his reply he said that it was quite all right. You might relax.” Little was said during the meal, and James almost inhaled his food, so quickly did he eat.

"I'm afraid I must go," he said at last, having finished his tea. Lord Hamilton had tried to avoid looking at him, for the evidence of the night’s events were all over him, most of all in the way his red eyes were still so very sore and puffed.

"So soon?" Miranda inquired, with her eyebrows drawn in a question.

"I can't be away when they come, they would think I have fled and it would make me look guilty." Miranda looked as confused as Lord Hamilton felt.

"They? James, what are you talking about?"

“From yesterday. Mrs. Smith warned me when we… when we talked, after – that they had asked about William’s other acquaintances and his father had sneered my name as if it was me who made him what he is. _Was_. She said they will probably seek me out before noon in my home. His father knows of my lodgings.” James’ face was an angry grimace as he pushed away from the table.

“What will you do? You can’t go with them! Who knows what they’ll do with you!” Lord Hamilton felt himself panic at his wife’s words. What if they took James too? He could not bear the thought of it.

“Are you suggesting that they might find something incriminating in my home, ma’am?” James spit. “No, they can’t do to me what they did to him. If they dare come, they will need to bring someone who will require solid proof of anything to even touch me.”

“I could come with you,” Lord Hamilton suggested, for he was not convinced. “Surely, they must turn at the sight of me, or at least upon hearing my name.”

“Bring a man to my rooms when about to be investigated for sodomy? How daft are you?” He had never seen James so cold, speaking with the purpose to hurt. His words and his tone stung more than Lord Hamilton wanted to admit even to himself.

“But if they take you? I can protect you, James, they wouldn’t dare bring you in for anything if I were there. My name is enough. You have to consider that even being taken in for questioning might damage you and your reputation gravely if it should come out!”

“I will not hide behind you skirts!” James sneered. “I will not let your name defend me as if I am some snivelling little shit. I will not let myself be protected in such a way – people like me _aren’t_ protected in such a way! You can do what you like, sir, and your wife might sleep with whom she wants and not a one can do anything but whisper! That is not the way of my world! People like me are ripped to pieces before they can open their mouths to defend themselves! I bet you could suck every cock in Whitehall and come out the richer for it. The world is unjust, my lord, and I will not let you coddle me when so many others suffer because they have not a one to stand with them, not a one who cares for them! Live in your dream world, Lord Hamilton, the real one is too ugly for you. I have nearly forgotten it, you have almost convinced me that it is possible to make change for the better, but my people will always suffer, and I will suffer with them if I must!” James grabbed his hat from the table and left in long, determined strides. The silence was deafening. For long minutes Lord Hamilton sat staring at the point where McGraw left, and his mind was completely blank. Until it wasn’t, and he shoved away from the table with careful, calculated movements, then retired to his bedchamber without a word, without a sideward glance at his wife. Once inside his own private chambers, Lord Hamilton bolted his door with shaking hands. That day, he opened for no one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose I should say I'm sorry... But I'm not all that sorry.
> 
> I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter, especially regarding the atmosphere - if it was projected in a satisfying way.
> 
> Thank you all so much for staying with me! Weirdly enough, I get more and more nervous every time I update!
> 
> Kudos and comments go a long way in putting me at ease and encouraging me to write faster :)


	16. Chapter Fifteen

James did not come for their planned meeting that Tuesday, and he sent no word of explication. Lord Hamilton waited in his study the same way two days later and was met with the same silent emptiness that prompted the kind of reflection he had wanted so badly to avoid.

Despite the terror of the night, Lord Hamilton couldn’t help but feel that they had finally, truly, become something more important than casual friends and partners working toward the same end. James had come to him personally after experiencing such a tragedy, he had sought comfort here, in his house and in his arms. The wretched hope that blossomed in his chest not only felt unethical under the circumstances, but every touch against James’ body had felt as if he was taking advantage of a man whose mind had escaped him as much from grief as the alcohol he’d consumed, and yet he couldn’t help himself.

James had set him in his place that morning; he had said nothing that was not deserved. He was daft, truly, to think that he could manage his situation, to think that he could save the pirates, to think that he could help everyone and change their reality for the better. But he tried, and he wanted! Given the chance, he would stand by every one of those people James rightly called his, but he would never have that chance, for he was so far removed from these individuals it was as if he lived on another continent altogether. It was infuriating; he knew the reality of the thing, and yet having it spit in his face in that way, and by James!

His words had worked like a hand grabbing Lord Hamilton’s heart through his chest and twisting it. He tried; with all his might, Lord Hamilton tried to do anything in his power to help those who needed it, but what could one man do alone? He couldn’t possibly help everyone, however much he wanted, but he did his best, and his efforts should not be so easily overlooked. James had had no right to discredit him in that manner.

Then there was the venom with which James had responded when he thought himself accused of sodomy, despite his pained words the day before, when he had cried; ‘he could have told _me_!’, an outcry which lead only to further questions, because why could he have told James when he could, for obvious reasons, not have told anyone else? James had, if he had meant to or not, confessed to a certain level of tolerance for sodomy; and if he were tolerant, would that not, perhaps, also make it likely that he, himself was guilty of it – or was that too great an assumption? Who else would understand?

Thus, not even James’ words could successfully kill the hope that had kindled in Lord Hamilton, for although it was nothing but a charred thing that could only just survive in its climate, it had the stubbornness of a dandelion; always pushing though wherever man tried to have it removed. It was a fate worse than being immediately assured of it futileness, and he did not know what he had ever done to warrant all this slowly burning anguish.

A sound from without must’ve filtered through his preoccupied mind, for Lord Hamilton shook himself at last, feeling stiff and disoriented, for he had sat entirely still for quite a while, the way he often did when he was so lost in his own head. Acknowledging the way his body begged for movement, Lord Hamilton rose from his chair and exited his study in only his shirtsleeves, for it had grown hot these last few days and he did not care to work up a sweat as he walked aimlessly through his own home.

It was in this way that he happened upon James McGraw and his wife, standing closely the way of secret conspirators in the entrance hall. Upon the sight of him, James startled away with a surprised intake of breath and he blanched visibly. A few whispered words from Miranda had James turn his back and leave with a whispered apology that Lord Hamilton admitted might have been imagined on his part.

“Thomas…”

“What was he doing here? Why did he not come to me? I’ve been anxious to speak with him for days and when he arrives you give me no notice, so that you can see him for yourself and send him away? How often has he been here without my knowledge since the last time that I saw him? Why have you not informed me?!”

“Come, Thomas; sit down with me and let me speak in peace!” Lord Hamilton did not want to sit down; he wanted to be stubborn and to argue and be a right bother until he had his answers. Did James no longer wish to see him? Did he want their arrangement to come to an end? He had said that he believed no longer that things could be different, but Lord Hamilton had never thought to fear that he wanted out altogether. He felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured down the back of his shirt. In silence, he followed his wife to the drawing room, and in silence he sat and let her speak.

“He was coming to you today; he wanted to apologise, and I promised to tell you so. I saw him entering and thought that I might speak with him.”

“And why could you not wait until he had at least seen me in person? You said that he wanted to apologise, why not let him?”

“Oh, but Thomas! Don’t you see that I could do what you cannot? I saw at once that his week has been a torment; how terribly drawn he looked! He must’ve barely slept at all. I could speak with him in a way he would never let another man do. He was ridden with guilt, I figured out, because he thought he took his friend’s passing too lightly – he thought that he was not hurting enough. He said to me; ‘if this is how easy it is for me to witness the death of such an old and dear friend, would I not find it equally simple were it Thomas, or yourself? You are dear to me now, I can’t deny it, but if I take it so easy, can it then be true emotion that I feel, and not something imagined?’ You can’t understand how terrible it was to hear him speak in this way; he truly thought that he cared so little. Ten minutes it took me to have him agree that it was only the effects of his occupation which makes it seem that way, and even then, I don’t think he was entirely convinced. He is a soldier; if he could not recover from the death of friends and strangers alike he would not be alive today.

“I spoke with him until he cried his grief into my shoulder and held my hand the way a child would his mother, and I have hopes that I might have helped him on the way to forgiving himself. He has been fooling himself all this time, in thinking that he cared too little, it is clear to me that he cares much more than any other person I know would in his situation. Of course, he urged me not to speak of this to you, so you must not let him know that I have.” Miranda stood, silently watching him for a reaction. It was not easy to show only half of what he felt, but Lord Hamilton had had much practice with letting his face betray only what he wanted. The problem was that he so seldom had felt the need to do so in front his wife before very recently, and she was the one who knew him best.

He smiled, however, and let show the side of him that appreciated her effort, not the one that was jealous of James’ ease with her and their intimacy. “What would men do without women?”

“If you weren’t so silly with pride of your manhood, perhaps you would survive, although I do not see it happening this century.” Lord Hamilton chuckled although he felt little mirth, and took her hand gently. Was it the one James had just held? Could he still feel his warmth, or the imprint of it in hers? He seemed entirely unable to stop further inflicting pain upon himself with thoughts of James and hopes that wouldn’t die.

As a diversion, Lord Hamilton threw himself into the preparation of his wife’s birthday celebration, although it was all perfectly under control by the housekeeper and her young protégé, and he did little more than disrupt their plans. He managed to keep himself in constant movement that while it required little thought, left no room for the self-analysis he shunned.

Two days went by in this manner, and he neither saw nor heard from McGraw until the man joined them immediately after breakfast the day of the celebration, as if he was expected. Moments later it was clear that Miranda had invited him without Lord Hamilton’s knowledge and without telling McGraw which day it was, for he barely acknowledged her, and approached Lord Hamilton instead, looking quite wary, and requested that they speak alone.

“I realise that my apology is far overdue, but I’m afraid that I was not in the right mind to deliver it on any earlier occasion, although that does not forgive the act of not sending you word of my absence this week.” Lord Hamilton assured him that he had not been inconvenienced, and that he had had other matters to attend to. McGraw would not hear it. “I should not have come to you the way I did that night, it was highly inappropriate, and I can hardly believe my own lack of thought in regard of convention, and my audaciousness. You had every right to throw me out, not the least because of the state I was in, but I admit that I am infinitely glad that you did not, and that I am very much indebted to you for your kindness and consideration. I pray forgiveness for the presumptuousness of my behaviour and my words the morning after, for they were entirely out of line.” Lord Hamilton considered the man in front of him in silence for long moments, heedless of the effects it had on him except that he saw how James’ hands clenched and unclenched, how his jaw twitched, and his feet shuffled as if he wanted to approach, to say something simply to break the silence although that was not like James at all.

“Your apology is accepted, James, but I want you to believe me when I say that it is not necessary. You say that I could have thrown you out, but it is not so. I see that it is difficult for you to believe, and I understand why, but I have come to consider you a friend.” Stepping cautiously closer, Lord Hamilton unfurled his arms, letting them fall to his sides, itching to touch. “I’m loathe to think what might have happened had you not come to me; I am so very glad, honoured, even, that you thought of me when in time of need, that, even in your… drunken stupor, if you let me be so frank, thought to trust me.” Lord Hamilton was a particularly tall man; James was required to look somewhat upward if he were to properly look him in the eye. He did so now, searching for truth in his gaze, but looking doubtful, mouth set in a frown and eyebrows drawn together, creating a crease between them. It could have been comical had not the moment felt so charged with importance. “James,” Lord Hamilton urged and closed the distance between them, putting a hand on his upper arm, immediately putting a stop to James’ fiddling, making him flinch almost imperceptibly. Lord Hamilton felt as if his hand was burning, he felt himself frowning, and yet he bowed closer as if to say; _you know me, James, it is just I, Thomas, and you have seen that I am kind and that I speak only truthfully_ , and he clenched his fingers softly, biting into the muscle of James’ strong arm.

James craned his neck and fixed his eyes on Lord Hamilton’s face, letting them travel across it as if he _wanted_ to find fault there. Lord Hamilton seemed to have no lungs to draw breath with, so completely still was he, so anxious did he feel. He clutched on, feeling only connected to himself in that point where he was connected to James, and finally saw the acceptance in his eyes. James nodded once and drew a nervous breath from the air between them. It took all his concentration and all his might to remove his hand from James’ arm and pull away until the distance between them seemed a twisting, tangible thing.

“Would you want another week before we meet again? It is acceptable, although we’ll need to meet more frequently, if you’re amenable to that,” Lord Hamilton suggested when the silence had started to become thick and heavy, as if it wanted to choke him.

“That will not be necessary; I’m fit to work whenever you should need me.” Lord Hamilton nodded his approval, silently glad that there would be no further delays.

“But not to-day. I noticed that my wife neglected to tell you that it is the anniversary of her birth, and that we are to celebrate in the evening with splendid food and never-ending dancing.” James’ eyebrows rose almost to his hairline and he looked quite astonished. Lord Hamilton laughed good-humouredly at him. “She is a bit mean, that way; I believe she asked you here in hopes to make you stay the evening although I have a feeling that you will not be convinced to do so.”

Chuckling, James answered with a wry smile; “me, at a celebration with London’s finest? They would ask me for another glass before they even considered me a possible dancing-partner. And I can’t dance anyhow. No, I will refuse.”

“I thought so. You make a good decision; it will be very long and very tedious and not a sensible word will be uttered the entire evening. Can you stand up to her on your own, or do you need me to draw my sword and stand beside you against her doggedness?” With an assurance that he would manage her on his own, and a shared smile of fondness for her between them, James went for the door, only stopping short when he had his hand on the knob as if assuring himself of his opportunity for escape. He turned only half the way, and did not quite look at Lord Hamilton when he spoke; “I hope you do not judge me on the company I have kept; I truly never knew about William’s proclivities in all the time that I was his friend. I find it a sorry thing to be associated with such men.”

“It only shows that they are not truly different from us, wouldn’t you agree? They are just men. Have a nice day. I will see you Monday.” James regarded him with a mistrusting frown, in stark contrast to their light familiarity only moments before. Then he turned the knob and fled the room. Lord Hamilton ground his teeth together, clenched his hands, and spent minutes channelling and controlling his emotions before he could show himself in his house again, all smiles and softness.

“Lady Penelope has refused to come again,” Miranda said in welcome when her husband emerged, at last, from his study. “She sent quite a long reply, actually, to include certain sentences I do not very much approve of. ‘I will not partake in your pagan rituals’ be one, and; ‘as if your ego is not already so alarming from the way your husband lets you do whatever you like’ be another. She has assured me that she will convince anyone in her path to stay away, although I do not think she will be very successful; we are so very much liked for our celebrations.” She looked quite content with herself.

“And the depths of my pockets. Hasn’t that old crone bothered London society enough for a lifetime already? Will she never stop? I’m surprised they haven’t excluded her altogether, but I suppose it comes from her luck in marriage. But, on a different note; you do know we will barely have room to house everyone as it is?” Miranda simply smiled, for that was her plan exactly. She was much too fond of too many people with too little space, for it made for such indecent intimacy that could not be avoided save for those who escaped to the gardens.

The Hamiltons barely had time to get into their finest clothing before carriages started arriving and peacock after peacock floated into their rooms and filled them with talk and laughter. As this would be the very last gathering of such grandeur before London was practically abandoned by any and every important person for the summer, everyone had put their absolute best efforts to look more extravagant than their friends. The room was a-sparkle with diamonds and pearls and gold, and it could just as well have been infested with all the tropical birds in existence judging by the variety of colour.

In the middle of it all was Miranda Hamilton, swirling and twirling and floating between guests from congratulation to congratulation, looking more handsome than all of them together. And for once, Lord Hamilton let her have that attention entirely to herself. He kept away, standing constantly by the walls to do nothing more than observe the gay celebrations. He was not in the right humour to take part, and it seemed to show on his face, for he was not often disturbed although Nathaniel, being more affected by alcohol than Lord Hamilton had seen him in years, had an arm around him for a good ten minutes, speaking continuously but never expecting a reply. Lord Hamilton was only amused by this, Nathaniel’s company he would never be averse to, and he found himself going breathless at their proximity, which was quite a surprise, for it was often that the man was so physical with him. He was loathe to admit that it must be because he had now so long been desperate for touch from James that any pair of big, calloused hands on him would set him alight with want. Of its own volition, Lord Hamilton's arm went around Nathaniel’s middle and he pulled them closer together until the man spoke directly into his ear. Nathaniel’s musky smell made him dizzy and he leaned closer, pushed his face an inch from the man’s neck. His deep voice and booming laughter sent sparks down Lord Hamilton’s spine and he wanted to bury his nose in the soft hairs at the man’s neck. With effort, he pushed him back at the end of his story, and Nathaniel sauntered away with an unusual sway to his hips that Lord Hamilton could not take his eyes from.

When the light started to fade outside, the dancing began. They had been well fed and well entertained (for every young, unmarried woman had had her turn at the grand piano), and Miranda danced with everyone, although Lord Hamilton claimed the right to the first one. They danced alone, with every eye in the room on them, and Lord Hamilton found a wonderful pleasure in stating so publicly that he was hers, and that whatever lovers she took, he cared little for she would always be his in the moments that mattered; it was where she most urgently wanted to be.

“Congratulations, Miranda,” he whispered into her ear as they slowed to a stop. “I love you more for every year that goes by. I will love you as you become wrinkled, I will cherish you as your hair turns grey, and I will adore you even as you can’t rise from your chair without help.”

“Such a wonderful prospect. Remember, at least, that you will be just as grey and tired.”

“That would never bother me, not as long as we’re together.” Miranda kissed him, then, on the mouth in front of everyone. Lord Hamilton felt himself flush with embarrassed joy as someone whistled – Nathaniel presumably – and pulled away after a second.

“What are you waiting for?” Lord Hamilton called loudly into the room, “shouldn’t you be dancing?” It took no more prompting than that, and Lord Hamilton slipped out of the room.

The rest of the night, Lord Hamilton spent trying to avoid their guests, for he was in no mood to be silly, not even civil. He couldn’t stop thinking about Nassau, about pirates, about angry Lieutenant James McGraw, who would rather not be associated with sodomites, thank you very much – but who would still kill the men who murdered his sodomite friend with his bare fists.

He couldn’t tell if he was more angry with James or himself; James for being such a right arse, for never making any sense, and for being so absolutely gorgeous all the while, and himself for _not caring_ that he’d seen murder in James’ eyes, for forgiving him without a second thought, for being unable to stop _liking him_ the way he did. All he could do was try to walk his frustration off, but in the gardens he was attacked with naughty giggles and indecent acts that while he thought them idiots, he still found himself jealous of them. He retreated to the drawing room and suffered the rest of the night, consuming too much wine and feeling too sorry for himself. He might’ve been embarrassed, he should’ve, really, but he was careless, even when, after everyone had gone, Miranda had to support him all the way to his rooms and pull every last piece of clothing from his body, before leaving with a look that showed all her disappointment in him, all her confusion. She looked wounded, and he was in no state to do anything about it, so he ignored it and rolled around to promptly fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay! A lot of stuff has been happening irl and I had no occasion to write :(
> 
> Luckily I will have a lot of time this week and hope that I'll get a lot done!
> 
> I did some research on birthday celebrations in the 1700-hundreds, but it was a bit difficult to find out exactly how they celebrated - even if they actually did, although it seemed that by this time they had started to, and I mean - Miranda would not let the occassion pass without taking advantage of it anyway. Earlier, like in the middle ages, birthday celebrations were considered a pagan ritual, although later it was adopted by Christians to celebrate the birth of Christ. It was still considered a celebration of one's ego if one celebrated their own birthday, but this seems to have changed before 1700, although the most concervative Christians didn't agree with this change.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please comment and leave kudos, it means the world to me <3


	17. Chapter Sixteen

“You spoke with James yesterday, before the celebrations.” Miranda already knew that, of course; she had initiated the conversation. That she should state it in such a manner now made it clear to Lord Hamilton that it was no innocent comment.

“Yes – he wanted to apologise in person and I told him that there was no need. He is very well-spoken.” Lord Hamilton forced himself to swallow another forkful of egg, despite the nervous churning of his stomach; this was not a conversation he wanted to have. He sipped at his coffee to get it down with minimal discomfort.

“What did he say, exactly, to upset you so? You mustn’t think that I didn’t notice at once. You’re not as good at fooling me as you believe.” It was a bad sign that Miranda put down her cutlery and folded her hands innocently on the table while her plate still contained food.

“It is not he who is at fault. I convinced him that I was glad that he came to me and that he might trust me as a true friend; we are closer than we were before.” It was the truth of the thing, and yet Lord Hamilton felt the words burning on his tongue. He ate another mouthful, but it was as if the food turned to ashes in his mouth. Miranda, whom he had always trusted with anything, was now the target of his lies.

“Then what is the problem?” Miranda sounded worried now, and it was worse than her curiosity. He never wanted to be the root of anything but happiness in her. But what could he possibly tell her? James would know nothing of the qualms in him; he would think them, as Lord Hamilton had described, closer than before, and he would be more comfortable, more trusting, but still further away from Lord Hamilton than he had ever been. He took a long sip of coffee to gain some time to think of a reply. He could not tell her of his feelings, he wanted to keep them secret, to hide them away from the world; she would want to bring them into the light.

“I simply worry that he hasn’t quite comprehended the importance of our endeavour, and that when he does, he might come to regret our closeness as it will make it more difficult for him to draw away. You heard what he said; he does not truly believe change to be possible.” He held his breath in anticipation as Miranda seemed to consider his words, but his concern had been for naught; she nodded her understanding. He felt at once wretched at his half-truth and thankful for his experience in politics; after all, the concern he raised was a justifiable one, although he did not truly worry.

“Give him time. He is still very new to this, and once he starts to truly reflect for himself on these matters, it will be proved than he is a good man; he will come to agree with you of his own volition.” More was not said on the matter, so Lord Hamilton left after their breakfast to meet some friends of his from Eton, while Miranda would spend her day with Margaret Grey and her Egyptian artefacts. She had talked much with the woman the night before, and it had not taken much convincing for her to agree to a visit. Lord Hamilton had politely declined, although he was more than interested, because he could always visit on some later date; his friends were rarely in town at the same time and he would profit from the occasion.

He went to their agreed-upon coffee house – a place more private than most, that afforded them the space to stay in their group only, and not force them to mingle with others as that was not their intention for the day.

The room was heavy with smoke, making Lord Hamilton feel warm and at ease even though he was not a heavy smoker himself.

Philip Huxley sat alone by a table at the back of the room, smoking his favourite weed. Lord Hamilton was not surprised; he was always the one to arrive early, no matter the occasion.

“Thomas, old friend!” Phillip shook his hand in a tight grip and offered him his pipe. After one puff of it, Lord Hamilton was brought back to his schooldays, when he had smoked little else. They chatted idly as they waited for the others, who soon showed their faces resulting in a game of insults as they were all rather more weathered than the last time they’d been in the same room together.

It was a fine group of people, who had been as much – or perhaps more – a part of shaping Lord Hamilton as a person than his father, so much time had he spent with them. It was strange now, to see them all as grown men. Dryden Reed was already grey, Ronald Chester had lost several teeth, and Thomas Halsey had two golden ones and several mean-looking scars to the face; he had always been too fond of drinking and it seemed he had come in contact with the wrong sort of people. Charlie ‘Sweet’ Sutton looked just as boyish as he’d always done, to Thomas Halsey’s great pleasure; he pulled the man under his arm and smothered him with kisses like a mother would her babe to everyone’s entertainment, for Charlie wriggled in his arms in an entirely futile attempt at getting away. Henry Thorne, to no one’s surprise, had gone to Cambridge as a professor there.

“I hate those brats,” he said. “Were we ever that bad?” A chorus of nods and smiles were accompanied by a comment that they’d probably been worse. “But there are a few good ones in between all the bad. Actually, there is one young thing that reminds me of our two Thomases as one person, although I don’t quite know how that is possible.” Thomas snorted, and Lord Hamilton lifted his cup toward him with a grin. “And then there’s Newton. We worked almost side by side for a while. A bizarre fellow if I ever saw one. A genius, to be sure; even I hardly understood what he was talking about most-times. I saw him in April actually; he was back at Cambridge, getting knighted. Did you know he was knighted? Strange man to make a knight of, I think.” Henry’s admiration was unquestionable.

The rest of the day was spent in that same manner. Lord Hamilton told his story like the others; they mocked him for his salons and said he was predictable but promised to come to one when they could find the time.

It was the most relaxed Lord Hamilton had felt since he first realised the depth of his attraction toward James, and he assumed the smoke had something to do with it, along with the carefree air of the men around him. He knew that they had troubles just as he; Dryden had never been able to have children even though he had married three times, and it had been all he had talked of at Eton. Thomas was clearly in financial difficulties – in short, no one was completely, irrevocably satisfied, but they did not talk about this; they spoke only of the good things and the memories, and Lord Hamilton found it to be a great relief. For just one day he could be that young, entirely optimistic lad who had sat in the grass in Eton’s gardens and discussed tyrannical professors, tyrannical fathers, and the world’s great injustices with these men exactly. Even then he had entertained them with endless talk of philosophy that more than once earned him a friendly smack over the head.

Lord Hamilton returned home in the evening with renewed hope. It didn’t much matter what James thought of sodomy, it didn’t much matter that his affections would never be returned to the same extent; he would always cherish the friendship he now had with James. He had never been one to care much for physical closeness, the intellectual challenge he found in others was what interested him, their ideas, their way of thinking; it would be enough.

He felt an unusual spring in his step as he entered his own home and immediately asked a servant about the whereabouts of his wife, who told him that she had gone out again after returning from her visit to the Duchess. Thus, Lord Hamilton returned to his work concerning the Nassau pirates with more energy and excitement than he’d felt in weeks; in his silly depression he had entirely forgot how good it felt to do something again, to work toward a goal that was good, that was right.

The question was how to acquire the pardons; by way of the Queen or an act of parliament. Queen Anne, of course, could not have time to spare for such things during times of war, and yet what hopes could he have with parliament? He had allies there, men dedicated to good, and yet they did not present the majority, and he had to concede that many of these men might turn on him at such a dangerous proposal. It was still the option most likely for success; the chances were great that the Queen would not see him, or laugh him in the face at the proposal. What remained, then, was to formulate his plan so that it sounded appealing to as many of the lords as possible, whether he liked them or not, whether they were good men or not.

But what could he tempt them with? Fetching a piece of paper, Lord Hamilton wet his quill and wrote;

_Progress more immediate (dedicated men), which means immediate profits – tempt them with sharing in profits/profiting themselves of these profits._  
_Promise closer alliances; my support in later matters (speak with Lords T, R, and F individually)._  
_Discouraging pirates is in all their interest – especially Lords L and K – and our success will discourage other pirates._

Pardoning the pirates – the lot of them – and set them to work for him – what an idea. And what should he do with them? Give the pirate captains authority over the rest – surely they would be happy if their continual power over others was assured, and then with them the rest of the pirates would need to follow, in lack of true leaders. But what else could he tempt the pirates with? Becoming part of their naval defences? Become officers? It would never be accepted by the English officers in place. Although – perhaps James could convince them; he was to go with them, after all.

James was to go with them.

Lord Hamilton dropped his quill and fell back in his chair. What had he been thinking, believing that his rapport with James would extend the duration of their working relationship? Even if James was to go back to his former duties, he would hardly spend much time in London – hell, chances were that he would be shipped off to the war and killed in his first battle. For the first time, Lord Hamilton felt the end of this endeavour loom over him like the blade of a guillotine. How could he have forgotten that James was not truly a part of his life? It wasn’t strange, then, his behaviour every time Lord Hamilton expressed a wish to be his friend, his true friend. They belonged to different worlds and there was no saying when, or even if, James would return from New Providence; he was an unmarried man and therefore one of the officers more likely to have to stay. Perhaps he would make a life there, find himself a wife, have children.

How daft he was.

“Sir?” Lord Hamilton jumped a foot in the air. “You wife has returned, sir, she has requested your presence in the drawing room.” Lord Hamilton nodded and the servant shuffled out. Gathering his wits about him, Lord Hamilton went to the drawing room, hoping that nothing of his grief was visible on his face. Oh, why did he have to care so much for the Lieutenant? Why could he not bring himself to seek help from his wife, who would certainly know what to do about it?

“There you are. How was your day?” Miranda was fidgeting; nothing made Lord Hamilton more nervous. He answered, shortly, that it had been a very good diversion from his duties. “Thomas,” Miranda looked up from her hands and held his eyes at last. “I took the Lieutenant to bed.” Time came to a stop, he saw nothing of the room around him, he heard nothing of his wife’s explanations, for surely she had one; she always did.

He felt the soft fabric of the chaise beneath him and sunk into it. He screwed his eyes shut, felt ever last ounce of energy dribble from his body, felt every last hope shatter in his chest and cut him like so many shards of glass. His heartbeats echoed through him until it was all he could hear; slow, steady, painful. For minutes, he sat in silence, wallowing in the feeling of losing all hope. For split moment he felt a pang of loathing and disgusting jealousy toward his wife. How dare she – A tear slipped down his cheek, and only shame followed it. She did not deserve his anger.

“Thomas, please,” Miranda whispered at last, and took a seat beside him. “I would not have – would never had, if he had not initiated it himself. You must understand, I made it quite clear to him that your relationship would not be injured in any way.” The irony of it all was not lost on Lord Hamilton, but it was not one he could laugh at.

“Stop,” muttered he, and spoke the words he had never wanted to fall from his lips. “I am in love with him.” Only silence followed the claim, a foul, ugly silence. His regret followed immediately upon saying the words, but it was too late to take them back.

“I don’t understand,” Miranda whispered at last.

“I’m in love with him,” Lord Hamilton repeated, sounding astonished to his own ears because – the relief, he had never imagined that relief could come from admitting it – out loud – in such unquestionable terms, to himself and to his wife. He was in love with James. It was not a silly infatuation, it was not lust, it was not curiosity.

“But, I thought –”

“I know,” Lord Hamilton said, and it was almost a laugh, desperate and broken though it was.

“You said you could not care for someone in such a way, that you have never – but what about, I mean, the physical aspect of the thing –?”

“I’m in love with him, as another man would be with a woman, with everything that notion entails. I want him, desperately.” Raising his eyes, Lord Hamilton looked at his wife as he spoke. “But I know it is a futile thing, and that I will never have him. I have been aware of my affections for some time, and yet – I never knew how deeply they went.” His lip quivered, but brave as he could be sometimes, he attempted a smile.

“I am so sorry,” Miranda breathed and reached for him. He lets her take his hands and hold them. “I… admit that I had begun to suspect that you felt something you haven’t before, but I didn’t know what to do, and with your reassurances – you should have told me, Thomas, why didn’t you?” It was a simple question, he told her; because he had never truly wanted to admit it to himself.

“It matters little,” Lord Hamilton said then, voice sounding raw to his own ears. “He will be gone in some months and then I will never see him again. It is better, perhaps, that I can never truly have him; it would only make the separation worse.” Of course, Miranda could see that it mattered very much. Lord Hamilton wasn’t prone to slumping, he always kept a very erect and proud figure, but as of late she had seen more often that his shoulders curled inward as if protecting his chest without success.

“I’m sorry that you should love under such unlucky circumstances,” murmured Miranda, leaning against his shoulder, pressing her forehead against the side of his face. “Your first love should be something simple, obtainable, and it should be answered in equal measure. You do not deserve this suffering, there is no one who deserves it less.” Lord Hamilton swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, letting silence stretch between them for he could not speak. “I’m sorry that I further inflicted pain upon you; I didn’t know. If you want me to never be with him again, of course I will not.”

“No, Miranda,” it was a pained uttering – to think that she should share in his suffering and feel guilty of her actions! “It was not your fault, and I can’t deny you him, not when I am convinced that it will bring you both happiness – yes, him too, but be sure to tell him that you have my blessing; I still believe he will feel guilty.” The sincerity in his statement must’ve shone through, for Miranda accepted it, although she saw clearly that it pained him. “And it would not do to leave him now, he would be very confused and begin to doubt his standing with us again; it would make matters much worse.” Miranda surprised him with a snort, but it was not amused.

“What a situation we have found ourselves in, man and wife, interested in the same person. Perhaps we could convince him to join us in our bed the night of our anniversary.” It was more a puff of air than it was a laugh, but Lord Hamilton smiled again, and put his arm around his wife.

“I can’t begin to imagine the arrangements of such a situation. Would we even have room in our bed?”

“Oh, he’s not as big as he looks.” Miranda winked, and even through his suffering, Lord Hamilton managed a joyous laugh, entirely unexpected. He decided, then, that his pain would not outweigh his happiness; he would not let it. Needed he more than this silly goose at his side? No, he had never done so before, and no handsome lieutenant would convince him otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that, I managed to post on time! (and have gotten ahead on my writing, so hopefully I won't be late again)
> 
> Now, I want to thank [ Chainofprospit ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Chainofprospit) for being such a wonderful person by way of pointing out all my typos (it seems I have no concentration whatsoever when I reread my own stuff, so there are many!) so that I might correct them. Thank you so much for that, you're a lifesaver!
> 
> And thank you to everyone else who keeps reading my story as it drags on forever, but I promise now that we are very soon getting to the good stuff, so hang in there, dear readers!
> 
> Kudos and comments are always greatly appreciated and so motivational, thank you all <3


	18. Chapter Seventeen

Awaiting James in his study before their following meeting was one of the most nerve-wracking experiences Lord Hamilton had ever had. The anticipation, the uncertainty, the wish – no, the need – to do the right thing, to make certain that James wouldn’t turn his back, but rather accept Lord Hamilton’s friendship despite everything – it was maddening. 

He couldn’t think of the first thing to say to James that would be remotely appropriate nor efficient at putting them at ease with each other and inspire an amiable mood. Miranda had already convinced him that telling James of his knowledge concerning their affair would be idiocy, and yet he still thought it would ease the Lieutenant’s conscience to know that he did not wrong Lord Hamilton with his actions. But how, then, should he welcome him? A comment on the weather was easy enough, but for that reason hardly intelligent, and James was not the first to welcome such pointless conversation. Perhaps he should say something amusing instead, so they could have a laugh together and certainly lighten the tension – should there prove to be any. But no, without a drink or five in him, James was not much of a laughing man; it would certainly be strained. An appropriate quote from a beloved author would be in his character; James would find that more welcome. But however much Lord Hamilton turned his brain inside out and upside down, he could think of nothing at all to say. Was it really such a hopeless quest, then, to say something that would interest James?

Footsteps sounded outside his door, and Lord Hamilton knew with dread that he was too late and therefore completely unprepared to meet James. All he could do was straighten in his chair and shuffle around some papers to seem engaged in something – anything but worrying so over how to receive him. Then James entered, standing perfectly erect in the doorway, so like himself it was laughable. There he was, Lieutenant James McGraw, in his smart attire and customary frown.

“James!” Lord Hamilton rose in welcome and shook the man’s hand in a firm grip. At the mere sight of him, Lord Hamilton felt his lips curl into a great smile and all his troubles seemed to evaporate like frost under sunlight. “You look much better than the last time I saw you; I’m glad. Here, have a seat.” Of course, Lord Hamilton didn’t say that James couldn’t have looked more guilty had someone written the word on his forehead, but the colour had returned to his cheeks and his eyes were ablaze with life.

“I could say the same of you, actually.” The implicit confession was there, as if James had said; ‘I hadn’t noticed that you have been somehow bothered, but now that you look fresh I see that you must’ve been’.

“Ah, yes. We both have renewed energy; I’m sure we will see great advancements going forward, despite recent difficulties, don’t you?” The familiarity of being here with James, the simplicity of it, was more refreshing than anything Lord Hamilton could’ve imagined or hoped for. The last few weeks’ exhaustion from the tumult of emotion that had played in him, coming and going, always shifting from depressed to shocked, to confused seemed to ease off steadily at the mere sight of a healthy lieutenant and the assurance that whatever else happened, he could trust that they would have this, at least – the sitting on opposite sides of Lord Hamilton’s desk and discussing their endeavour in easy camaraderie.

“Have you at all had time to think on what to do with the Governor?” James asked, thinking back to the last time they had met to discuss their plans for Nassau. So much had happened that Lord Hamilton had almost forgotten what they had talked of at all.

“Not a single moment,” Lord Hamilton chuckled.

“Good, I haven’t either,” James admitted with one of his shy, lopsided smiles. Oh, but he was edible, that man.

“He must be disposed of immediately, but let us leave it to me to find a replacement. I suppose we could find someone loyal to me to report back on his actions.” It took a second of James’ grin before Lord Hamilton’s mind caught up with him. He shook his head with a smile. “Would you like to be my loyal spy on the new governor, James?” James’ cheeks pinked, and he nodded fondly.

“And what orders do I have, should he side with the pirates, my lord?” James seemed to hold his breath, waiting to see if his play would be accepted – for his voice was uncommonly playful – although Lord Hamilton did not know what exactly he was getting at.

“Oh, lieutenant, I should expect you to get rid of him in an instance and take up his position for yourself.”

“And should I send word back to you? Perhaps you would come and judge for yourself what the best course of action would be?” Lord Hamilton’s fingers tingled, his chest warmed, and James, for once, held his eyes steadily, letting show his uncertainty – wanting Lord Hamilton to see it, although Lord Hamilton did not know what to make of it.

“Perhaps I would.” It wasn’t the first time Lord Hamilton thought that perhaps _he_ could be – but no, best not let his mind consider it at all, it was not an option. But perhaps James had – suggested that he visit him? The thought was unwelcome; it had not been James’ meaning. Lord Hamilton shook himself. “If I’m not mistaken, little remains to be done. Have you taken the proposal to the Admiralty?”

“I have discussed parts of it with Admiral Hennessey, who seems to think, perhaps, that it is somewhat ambitious, but he would have made it very clear if he thought it impossible. We have his support.” Lord Hamilton nodded, but said nothing; James’ hands were twisting in his lap, his eyes flitted around the room, his tongue went out to wet his slightly parted lips – oh god, those lips! Lord Hamilton could look at them for hours, the way they bowed in a constantly stern frown, the fullness of them, the pink hue to them… “Thomas, are we –” James’ nervous tongue went to swipe over his lips again, “are we certain that this will work? Have we asked all the right questions? Have we done more than necessary? Too little? Has something been forgotten? Most of our discussions have revolved around my idea that we must bring a colony with us, but perhaps something else would be just as – or even more – suitable.” It was almost entertaining, seeing James so doubtful, so unsure of himself, and most certainly endearing. It warmed Lord Hamilton that he dared show his doubts, that he dared be so honest.

“You ask excellent questions. Let us play a game; let us put our plan into action in our minds, supposing that we are given everything we request.”

The ships are loaded, and we embark on a two months voyage to the Bahamas through storms and calms. Let us assume that our ships all reach the island in one piece, let us assume that pirates do not hinder us in any way quite yet. What do we do upon arrival?

It took four entire sessions for them to go through the entirety of the plan. They would leave nothing to circumstance, would leave no question unasked nor unanswered in a most satisfying way. Details were changed one, two, three times. Ideas were added, and doubts were removed. Not once did James leave upon the conclusion of their discussion.

“May I have a look at your library again?” James asked that first time, and Lord Hamilton would never say no to such a request, but promised to join him there after a moment, should he like. James would like, indeed.

After having tidied his desk, Lord Hamilton followed James with two glasses of wine and located him between two shelves furthest from the door. He nudged the man with the toe of his heeled shoe, and James took his glass gratefully.

“How many of these have you read?” James asked with a reverent hush to his voice.

“Not a tenth, I assure you, but quite a few, none the less. Are you looking for any one in particular?” James turned toward him, and hand on the bookshelf, teasing the spines of several books with his fingers.

“I would like for you to pick one of special importance to you.” The request was thrilling. It took a moment, but Lord Hamilton thought himself quite ingenious in his subtlety when he brought James to another part of the library to pick a book off the shelves and show it to him.

“ _La Princesse de Clèves_ is one that I have always thought most interesting, but I don’t suppose you speak French either. It really is a pity.” James took the book from him and studied it, let it fall open in his hands.

“Les paroles les plus obscures d'un homme qui plaît donnent plus d'agitation que des déclarations ouvertes d'un homme qui ne plaît pas,” James read with a most horrendous accent, stumbling over words and cursing in between.

“Never speak so to a Frenchman, he will slay you on the spot!” Lord Hamilton laughed.

“You assume he would be able to; you do me a most insulting injustice!” James replied with twinkling eyes.

“Here, repeat after me.” Lord Hamilton placed himself behind James and let him hold the book as his own finger trailed under the words he read. James repeated the words with a little more success than before, but it was still most entertaining; more so for the fact that James turned around after, to find if he did good or bad in Lord Hamilton’s features, and the tips of their noses were mere inches apart. James’ mouth opened to say something, but the words seemed to die on his tongue. His eyes were almost black in the relative darkness of the room, but Lord Hamilton could easily make out the surprise on his face and the flush in his cheeks at their proximity. The moment stretched, too long. The silence was too loud. The warmth of James, scorching. James shifted, and Lord Hamilton mirrored his movement. For a single second they swayed closer, then –

“I thought I heard you talking – oh!” Miranda rounded a shelf and caught them as they were, Lord Hamilton’s chest almost pressed to James’ shoulder and entire side, looking at each other with no thought for anything else. Lord Hamilton startled away at the sudden words, for he had heard nothing of her approach. “I’m sorry, I –” Desperate to have her stay, for it was clear what she had assumed – James must also think so – Lord Hamilton scrambled for words.

“You have perfect timing, my dear. I have just showed James _La Princesse de Clèves_ , and it reminded me that we have neglected our duty in teaching him Spanish!” James eyes widened at the sight of Miranda, and flitted from her to Lord Hamilton several times as he swallowed loudly enough for Lord Hamilton to hear it. His breathing grew steadily erratic; he looked as if he were about to have some stroke of the heart, and Miranda’s wink did nothing in way of calming him. Lord Hamilton grabbed the man by the elbow with more strength than necessary. “What do you say, James, shall we give you a lesson?” James dragged his eyes to meet Lord Hamilton’s as if they’d gained weight since he last moved them, but he seemed to relax somewhat at what he found in his eyes.

Thus, it became a ritual; after every meeting, James would stay for one, maybe two hours being taught Spanish by a pair of most quarrelsome teachers who could never quite agree on what was most important. It was more amusing than it was educational, but Miranda sent with him a Spanish children’s book and its English translation, and he assured them that his understanding deepened, for he read before going to sleep every night. It was an image Lord Hamilton could not quite dispel from his mind.

Miranda continued seeing James privately and had only good things to report. They were growing very close, and although James admitted, quite often, to guilt, she always assured him that there was no need, and although Lord Hamilton caught from time to time, a pained look on James’ face, and that it was clear that he was ashamed of himself, it was not often, and the times they were together now were better than ever before.

With the weather, Lord Hamilton’s mood lightened further until he felt constantly in joyous spirits.

“Would it interest you to visit a ship the likes of which we want to acquire for the expedition to Nassau?” Lord Hamilton lifted his eyes from the book in his lap and squinted to see James beside him.

“Could I?” They were sitting on the floor of the terrace leading to Lord Hamilton’s gardens, reading in silence for the past thirty minutes.

“I can give you a tour if you wish.” James looked radiant in the sunlight with his flaming hair and so vividly green eyes, eyes that would put shame to an emerald, Lord Hamilton thought.

“I would love to.” James’ lips spread until the top row of perfectly aligned teeth was entirely visible and his eyes crinkled ever so slightly.

“I’ll take you, then.” They returned to silence, but there was a different feeling to it. Out of the corner of his eye, Lord Hamilton saw that James was still smiling into his book, nestles between his powerful thighs, drawn up to plant his naked feet firmly on the ground. His sleeves were rolled up and the perfectly freckled expanse of his forearms was tantalisingly visible. His skin was most likely warm from the sun; Lord Hamilton wanted to taste it. Oh, how terribly jealous he was of Miranda! How he wished that he could have James the way she did. To think that she had kissed his lips, felt his shoulders, had him between her legs.

“I will come with you only if you do something for me in return,” Lord Hamilton amended.

“Oh, sorry – I hadn’t realised you were doing me a favour in accompanying me!” James exclaimed.

“My mere presence is a favour to a person like you, lieutenant!” With a single push, James placed Lord Hamilton on his side on the ground, yelping in surprise. “How dare you treat a better man in such a way?!” Lord Hamilton cursed, and jumped to his feet, but James was far out of reach in an instance, grinning and reminding Lord Hamilton rather of a wolf eyeing its prey.

“A better man? You couldn’t hit me on a good day, sir!” Lord Hamilton picked up a bowl of rainwater and drenched the self-satisfied lieutenant a second later. For one split moment, James looked entirely shocked, mouth hanging agape that a grown man would do such a thing, eyes like saucers; then he pounced forward, and Lord Hamilton scrambled away from him; slipped on the steps leading to the garden and fell backward into a parody of a somersault, landing at last on his stomach with a loud ‘ouf!’.

James cursed crudely, but Lord Hamilton looked up at him and smiled. Immediately, James crumbled to the grass in laughter. “Your face!” he gasped, and clutched his stomach, curled in on himself and laughed until he had tears in his eyes.

Indignantly, Lord Hamilton rose and dusted off himself, stepping childishly on the hard plain of James’ side as he returned to the terrace with as much dignity as a man with grass in his hair could.

“You’re dismissed,” he huffed when James joined him again, red in the face and wiping his tears away. It earned him only another chuckle.

“Who thought you could be so acrobatic, my lord? I have never seen such grace!” Lord Hamilton picked the head of a flower from the pot beside him and threw it at James with a smile. The flower stayed put in James’ hair and Lord Hamilton cursed himself.

“Choke on it, you urchin.”

“What way is that to address someone who compliments you? You wound me, your majesty!”

“I was going –” Lord Hamilton stressed, setting his eyes firmly on James and silencing him at last, “to invite you along with Miranda and I for a week-end at our country estate, but now that you are being such an insubordinate subject, I am beginning to change my mind.” Lord Hamilton put his nose indignantly in the air.

“Really?”

“No, of course not, -”

“No, I mean – you truly want me to accompany you there?” James seemed completely taken aback again; Lord Hamilton wondered when he would get past the fact that he was considered a friend.

“Of course. It would be my pleasure, Miranda’s too; she suggested it.” James pinked, then, and seemed to become only more doubtful. “Please, I want you there with us.” At last James nodded, but returned quickly to his book, and they sat there until the sky started to darken, James dried completely, and Miranda returned at last from her visit.

They dined together and sat in conversation until it was quite late. Lord Hamilton retired first, giving his wife the opportunity to bring James to her bed should she wish.

He would never admit that the thought of them retiring to a bed together cut like a knife through his heart, and he tried his very best not to think of it, for he could do nothing to change it.

And yet think of it, he did. Was James loud as he took his pleasure? Did he enjoy kissing, or was he not emotionally invested in Miranda in that way? Lord Hamilton knew that Miranda did not feel for James the way he did, but that didn’t mean she cared nothing at all. 

He knew that Miranda liked to take her pleasure astride a man; did James let her, or was he loathe to relinquish control? Had she tasted him - _there_? Was he as freckled everywhere as he was above the waistline? He didn’t dare ask her these questions, would never do it for it was such a breach of James’ trust, but by God – he wondered. Sometimes he couldn’t fall asleep for thinking of the man in that way. Certainly not before he took himself in hand, ashamed but unable to stop himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My oh my, dirty Thomas is dirty, and yet so innocent.
> 
> The quote, taken from La princesse de Clèves written by Madame de La Fayette in 1678, means 'the most obscure words of a pleasing man give more agitation than the open declarations of a displeasing man' (my translation, not an official one so it might be phrased differently elsewhere, but this is what it means).
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this part, please vote and/or comment if you did :)
> 
> Thank you to all you wonderful people for staying with me on this long journey! <3


	19. Chapter Eighteen

“What would I need to bring?”

“You still sound as if you’re not certain whether you will be coming. We leave in three days, James, there is no room for you to change your mind.” James grabbed Lord Hamilton by the elbow as he almost missed their left turn and pulled them alongside each other again, making the tall man trip over his own feet. “Your uniform is not necessary; you might bring whatever clothing you wish. There will be no fine dinners, no other company beside us. Bring whatever is comfortable – we have quite a while in a carriage, mind you – and will not suffocate you in this damnable heat.” Lord Hamilton waved a hand in front of his face, chasing away a fly. His face was twisted in a grimace, his mouth downturned in a frown. “This blasted wig is killing me. My brain will start to boil, just you wait – soon enough it will be leaving as vapor through my ears!”

“It’s as if you think my tricorn is any better. Need I remind you that it is black?”

“Let us toss them in the canal and be done with them, then!”

“And it is worse for me, because when I remove my hat my hair will be absolutely disgusting and although yours will be just as dirty, it’s so short no one will notice anything different and you’ll look as composed as ever!” At last they emerged on the docks and made straight for one of the big ships there. As they walked, Lord Hamilton noticed several lesser officers stand at attention as James passed and felt his entire body flush in excitement. To his absolute horror he felt a pull in the lower parts of his abdomen and a throb between his legs. Oh, that was decidedly not decent. It was as far from decent as he had ever been; he could no longer see decent on the horizon. He gulped, and followed James up the gangway, immensely glad the man wore his long coat. A coat which covered his behind.

The sight on board the busy ship soon drew his attention away from the dapper lieutenant. Ropes were swinging all about him, officers shouted, sailors grunted as they passed. Lord Hamilton turned his eyes toward the heavens and saw only the masts, more rope, platforms high in the air – almost completely obscuring the blue sky above.

“Have you been on a ship before, my Lord?” James wondered. Lord Hamilton conceded that he must’ve looked quite awestruck.

“Yes, I have been to the continent several times, although I admit I know nothing of sailing.” Someone bumped into Lord Hamilton and James glared at the man, making him scramble away with a hurried apology.

“This is a barque,” James informed him. “A three master as you can see; fore, main, and mizzen mast, respectively.” James pointed at each mast in turn, starting at the front, going backwards. “Starting on high on the main, there’s the sky-sail, royal, t’gallant, gallant, and mainsail on this one.” James listed them with ease, and Lord Hamilton saw excitement bubble in his eyes. “Going aft, this is the quarterdeck.” James flew up a stately decorated staircase and Lord Hamilton followed in his wake, barely able to keep his pace despite his longer legs. He joined James at the very back of the ship, and they stood shoulder to shoulder there, looking over the commotion on the docks below and the sprit of another ship’s bow not far from their noses. “There will always be a sailor on lookout here. It is one of the more pleasant assignments you can have on a ship; I certainly enjoyed it before I was made an officer. Up with the sunrise – can you imagine the sight, my lord?” James quirked an eyebrow at him, tilting his head sideways to get a look at him. “The waves will be crested with gold, the entire horizon will be aflame with a deep red, the few clouds will look as if they’re burning. The air will be fresh and cool compared with the closeness of the berth, and you’ll be completely alone. Aside from the ship rolling over the waves, there won’t be a sound, and no one will bother you.” It was clear that James had escaped there many a time. From whom or what, Lord Hamilton wasn’t sure, but he had an inkling that James had not had a good or close rapport with his fellow sailors. Nevertheless, he seemed happy, if a little nostalgic, to think back on the memories now.

“It is an inviting prospect, I regret not doing it on my voyages.” With a low ‘come along’, James led him to the other end of the quarterdeck, where they also leaned against a railing. James spread his hands on it to lean on as he scrutinised the deck from there, for they could see everything that happened on it. James looked royal; a truly commanding figure. He was not an easy man to please, Lord Hamilton thought, as he watched the stern face of his friend. His lips were pressed together lightly, his eyebrows creasing.

“Mason!” he yelled suddenly, “careful with that thing; jostle it any more and you’ll tip it all over the side!”

“Yes, sir!” one of the sailors replied – Lord Hamilton could not see which – and James grunted.

“Sorry about that,” James murmured, and had it been any other man, Lord Hamilton would’ve thought he only yelled so to ascertain his authority or show off his influence, but this was James, and he had no need for such petty actions.

“I can remember this sight with all the sails up, although I admit that the ships I’ve been on were smaller than this.”

“It’s majestic,” James agrees with a faraway look in his eyes. “I can’t remember the last time I was on land for such an extended period. The sea is more a home to me than anywhere else; what ship I’m on matters little.”

“Is that why you never married; your true love is the sea?” James flashed a grin at him, looking quite the devil, and pushed off from the rail, returning to the deck they came from.

“This is the cabin; the officers’ quarters. Come have a look.” He wouldn’t call the accommodations luxurious to any extent, but the officers had the privacy of sharing their sleeping space with only three or one other – depending on their rank – and they had a dining room which didn’t seem very cramped at all, but perhaps that was because it was empty at the moment.

“And you live here for months at a time, with so little privacy. When do you – I mean, how do you –” Lord Hamilton flushed with embarrassment at his intended question – he would not ask James how they had the privacy to… relieve themselves of certain tensions, so to speak. He quickly asked another question. “Do you bring nothing with you? There’s barely room for a change of clothes in your cabin!”

“You’d be surprised at what can fit in our lockers.” They went out into the sunlight again, but James soon led him down a – “hatch! Now, the galley is at the back there and the sailors sleep here in hammocks, though they’re stored away for the moment – take up a lot of space. Down here – careful, my lord, the steps are slippery – is where the cargo’s stored. Fuck, I always forget to bring a lamp. Here, put your hand on my shoulder – good.” James’ own hand covered Lord Hamilton’s on his shoulder to hold him safely in place. “It’s mostly emptied now, though.” Lord Hamilton slipped over - _something_ \- but James caught him and set him upright again. “Sorry; should’ve told you to lift your legs higher.” They went deeper into the hold, and Lord Hamilton realised the magnitude of it. It must’ve been the size of the entire ship, he thought. “You know –” Lord Hamilton could only see the glimmer of James’ teeth as he turned, “they say some pirates keep one of their eyes covered during raids to see better in the dark when they descend into the interior of a vessel they’ve boarded. It’s quite ingenious actually.”

From there, James showed him the entirety of the ship, glowing with excited energy all the while, and Lord Hamilton could not concentrate for staring at him. There was a boyish eagerness in his face, he walked with a spring in his step at a pace Lord Hamilton could barely follow.

Words like capstan, ballast, forecastle, rigging, larboard, taffrail, jib, rudder, waist, tiller, and pawl danced in front of Lord Hamilton’s eyes, and he understood not a word of James’ talk, but enjoyed the way his Cornish accent grew steadily thicker until Lord Hamilton wouldn’t understand the man even if he’d actually spoken _English_ instead of _sailor_. But he didn’t care, all he could think of was how completely beautiful the man was in his natural habitat, when he thought nothing of how he was perceived and when he spoke of something that was clearly a true passion, because it shone through his eyes until he looked like a child who had gotten a particularly grand present.

After the extended tour, James led him back on land and regarded Lord Hamilton with a dazzling smile. He looked almost deliriously happy, and Lord Hamilton adored him more than ever. He couldn’t help himself from reaching out and gripping the lapel of James’ coat to tug gently at it, twice.

“Thank you,” he muttered, “for inviting me to share in something that is such an important part of you.”

“I’d dearly like to sail again,” James admitted, and swayed slightly toward Lord Hamilton, who couldn’t yet let go of his coat. “And yet I find myself hesitant to leave London.”

“Have you found something to stay ashore for, Lieutenant?” _Or perhaps someone_ , he thought, but for some reason he was not convinced that James’ affair with Miranda would be enough to keep him in the city should he wish to leave.

“I will not leave a project before it is finished, but I doubt that anything, or anyone, can truly keep me from the sea forever. It is a part of me, in here. I can feel it roaring in my blood some times.” James touched his own chest, fingers grazing Lord Hamilton’s as they travelled upward.

“That doesn’t surprise me in the least.” Lord Hamilton let go of his coat at last. James looked at him with a curious, searching expression, his lips pressing together in consideration.

“My lord –”

“Lieutenant McGraw!” James whipped around and quickly stood at attention at the sight of Admiral Hennessey. Lord Hamilton wondered idly if James found it easy to follow orders – if he had when he was first recruited; after all, he had seemed a naughty child from what Lord Hamilton had heard of him. “At ease, lieutenant.” James relaxed, and stepped aside, taking his place beside Lord Hamilton.

“Allow me; Lord Thomas Hamilton, this is Admiral Hennessey of her Majesty’s Navy.”

“Lord Hamilton, I have heard much of you,” Admiral Hennessey said and offered his hand.

“Not all bad, I hope.” Lord Hamilton’s smile was disarming, hiding his nervousness at the sight of the Admiral’s piercing, intelligent eyes. He looked not unlike a mother bear sensing a threat to her cub, that cub being James McGraw. Admiral Hennessey’s eyes shifted between him and James, and perhaps it was simply their natural state, but Lord Hamilton thought he looked particularly mistrusting around the eyes, the way they made small slits, creating a myriad of wrinkles around them. James shifted uncomfortably in the tense silence, and Lord Hamilton couldn’t stand it any longer. “The Lieutenant just gave me a tour of this ship. It has been most interesting, although I’m not sure I can remember which is the royal and which is the t’gallant sail. I confess my nautical knowledge is minimal, at best.”

“And what has been the point of this tour, exactly?” The Admiral stood as erect and proud as James did, and Lord Hamilton recognised, at last, the look on his face; it was the exact one James had worn the very first time they’d met.

“Oh, a diversion only, and to satisfy my curiosity. We have been hard at work the past few weeks and we now deem our plan complete. We find ourselves with some time on our hands and some basic knowledge of the ships we wish for is only beneficial. My father is out of the country for the moment, and we must present the plan to him before we can move forward.” The Admiral didn’t seem to like that answer overly much, but Lord Hamilton had planned on it.

“You are finished, are you?” Here was his opportunity.

“Yes, we believe so. And James has told me that he has discussed several aspects of the plan with you, Admiral. It pleases me greatly to hear that you approve, that you think it might be done; I have heard that your word carries great weight, and from hearing James talk I have also gathered that you are the best the Admiralty has to offer in so far as strategic intelligence and sensibility go. Of course, he hasn’t said it in so many words, but there was hardly any doubt about his opinion, and his is an opinion I have come to hold in high regard; I couldn’t possibly have wished for a better liaison and partner in this endeavour.” Admiral Hennessey’s expression warmed at the mention of James, and Lord Hamilton congratulated himself on an impression well made. The Admiral didn’t seem like a man to appreciate flattery of any kind, but he would expect it, so Lord Hamilton had decided to give it to him, in the way he would be most pleased; his own intellect, and his favourite’s good character.

“I’m glad that you’re pleased,” the Admiral grunted, much in the same way James would sometimes. “Lieutenant McGraw is one of our most promising officers, intelligent and cool – you will never see him lose his head – and someone who knows his station. I admit that he is one of the few who has not let his rapid rise in rank get to his head; it is most beneficial.” The Admiral nodded almost imperceptibly toward James, and Lord Hamilton couldn’t resist a quick glance at him. It didn’t surprise him that James only stood as he had during the conversation, entirely erect, and with a stern expression. Save for the twitch at the corner of his mouth, it was as if James had heard nothing. A few short pleasantries were exchanged, and James agreed on a meeting with the Admiral on some later occasion, then the man turned his back on them and marched off.

The moment he was out of sigh James whipped around to face Lord Hamilton fully and his face split in a smile that put the sun to shame.

“Most promising officer,” Lord Hamilton whispered, and he could nothing but return the smile in equal measure, feeling warm all over. James was practically thrumming with energy and pride. Lord Hamilton drew him in for an embrace and James laughed into his ear.

“ _Most promising officer_! Fuck. Yes.” James grabbed Lord Hamilton’s justaucorps and shook him. “Fuck me I never thought I’d hear him say it. What the fuck.” James buried his face in Lord Hamilton’s chest and drew the lapels of his justaucorps around his ears.

“I’m not surprised that he said it at all, if you care about my opinion on the matter.” James looked up at him through light eyelashes and grinned so brilliantly that Lord Hamilton forgot momentarily how to breathe.

“And you!” James exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at Lord Hamilton after letting go and starting away from the ships. “Never thought you could lick arse so expertly – he _liked_ you. I’ll have you know, Admiral Hennessey don’t just go around liking people!”

“Despite what they say about me, once people hold their tongue long enough to let me speak it turns out that I am rather hard not to like.” James snorted and bumped into him.

“You think you’re so subtle, Lord Hamilton, but I see right through you; your ego is enormous.”

“And rightly so. I would like to inform you that yours is just as bad. Now will you return home with me, or do I have to be miserable for three whole days before I see you again?”

“Oh, I’m sure it will be most painful, my lord, but I believe that you can survive it. I have too much to do before leaving.”

“I will see you outside my door at seven in the morning this Friday, then?” James nodded in agreement and they went each their way.

Lord Hamilton spent the rest of the day in nervous excitement, unable to forget how James had clutched him, laughed so delightedly into his ear, smiled so openly at him. To see him so joyful at one comment from Admiral Hennessey convinced Lord Hamilton of the fact that James was not at all used to any kind of praise; that he had lived his entire life unsure of what his superiors thought of him, that he was never assured of his worth or his competence. It was sad, and had it been up to Lord Hamilton he would spend the rest of his days praising James until he blushed like a schoolgirl. Fanciful thinking, but it was enjoyable, and didn’t hurt as much as it might have some time ago.

He spun Miranda in his arms when he found her at last, and gave her a lasting kiss on the lips, pressed them hard together and smiled just so. He laced their fingers together, bent her backwards, held her in his arms. God, but she was a wonderful creature.

“I don’t think I’ve told you enough lately that I love you.” They spent the rest of the day together, and Lord Hamilton realised with some surprise that he had missed her, although not a day had passed that he hadn’t seen her.

They lay together on a blanket in the gardens as the sun beat comfortably down on them. Lord Hamilton would read, then they would discuss – _why are we here?_ and Miranda would end it, like she always did, with a; “Thomas! What does it matter? We will never know!” and a brilliant, teasing smile, and speak with him the exact same words as he said; “but I wonder!” and he would tell her that she knew him too well. Then she would distract him from further talk on the subject by rolling onto him and whisper; “Margaret wants an affair with me! Did you know that it has become quite popular for women to have a _special female friend_? Do you think I should accept her offer? It sounds so very naughty.”

“I didn’t know women fancied each other the way men do! What is this – women are not supposed to enjoy such carnal desires. This is unacceptable!” Then he would kiss her and they would laugh into each other’s mouth and he would roll them around until he pressed her into the grass beneath her.

Miranda disappeared after dinner, and Lord Hamilton enjoyed a book until it was late enough to retire and still keep some of his dignity. To his surprise, his wife came to him before he was properly asleep.

“Will you explain to me why Lieutenant James McGraw talked so endlessly about you when I visited him in his rooms just now, and why he asked, after congress, whether we wear the same perfume, for he was certain he smelled the same scent on us?” Lord Hamilton found nothing smart to say, so she continued. “You know, hearing ‘your husband this’ and ‘your husband that’ is quite annoying after having had him inside me only minutes before.” Lord Hamilton flushed so furiously he buried his head between his pillows.

“I had the audacity to embrace him!” he admitted in a muffled cry. “Oh, but Miranda you should have seen him! Admiral Hennessey had complimented him and I have never seen him shine so bright! It was as if his every last wish had been granted, I couldn’t keep my greedy paws off him! Send me to Hell if you must, but it was worth it!”

“Do you think that he might come to… return your affections?” Miranda asked cautiously, but Lord Hamilton thought that she looked hopeful.

“Oh, not a chance, I don’t think. And anyway he seems to quite enjoy you, doesn’t he? I will suffer in silence; I am quite all right, I promise. It doesn’t mean that I will not enjoy the few moments that I am granted with him.”

“My silly Thomas,” was Miranda’s only words before slipping out of her dress and join him in his bed. Her neck was bruised, and she had teeth marks on her shoulder. Lord Hamilton put his mouth over the sensitive spots, let his tongue play over them, bit into them softly to make her gasp. Sweet lord, James’ mouth had been exactly there not even an hour ago. Lord Hamilton could almost taste his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :') This totally felt self-indulgent. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Please vote and comment, it makes me so happy to know what you think!


	20. Chapter Nineteen

It was light already at seven o’clock these days and it made the beginning of their journey more pleasant that it would’ve been in darkness. The men spent it mostly in silence, gazing out the windows at the city and its grimy inhabitants as it passed by, so as not to wake the lady, sleeping on Lord Hamilton’s shoulder despite the often violent bouncing of their carriage and the rattling of their baggage. She was a late sleeper, and her maid had barely been able to wake her at all; she was all too happy to fall asleep again, and Lord Hamilton didn’t have the heart to refuse her.

Thus, they spoke little, and while they pretended to look only outside, Lord Hamilton caught James studying the two of them from time to time, just as he looked at James when he thought the man wouldn’t see. James had foregone his uniform in place of a brown coat which he had removed when inside the carriage to reveal an old, yellow-white shirt underneath and nothing in the way of waistcoat nor a cravat to speak of. He looked positively roguish with the usual scowl on his face and Lord Hamilton couldn’t deny that it fit him very well. He had also removed his tricorn just as quickly and drew the hempen thread from his hair to let it spill loose down his back (having, seemingly, not bothered with the pretty bow he usually wore). It might have made little difference, perhaps, but for the fact that his face was framed by his fiery locks and that Lord Hamilton had a special liking for them and their colouring that made it hard to look away.

It was around lunchtime when a particularly deep hole in the road sent them reeling and Miranda started awake. To save time, they had decided to bring with them food and eat in the carriage. Lord Hamilton had resisted all of the cook’s and the housekeeper’s scandalised (and not at all restrained) outbursts and his wife’s groaning.

James did not comment on it, but ate the bread-and-pork he was offered eagerly, until Miranda started moaning that the road was too bumpy for them to eat in peace and that they deserved a proper, tranquil, pause. Then he remembered that it would be highly unusual for people like the Hamiltons to eat in their carriage in place of stopping at an inn along the road.

“Endure, Ma’am, this is one of the chores of the common people – you deserven’t better.” James winked, and attacked his food again with vigour as if to prove his point. Lord Hamilton leaned in and whispered to his wife, loud enough for James to hear as well; “I told you: you will not win with him.”

It was one of the less tedious journeys Lord Hamilton had experienced, even though James was visibly less at ease when faced with both Hamiltons – for whatever reason. Nevertheless, they all felt rather rattled and tired upon arriving at the country house, and Lord Hamilton had to ask the cook to keep their food for an hour so that they might lay down for a bit. Ophelia, the only servant save the cook who had come with them, showed James to his room, and Lord Hamilton retired to his, falling asleep the moment his head lay on the pillow.

James, it seemed, preferred the drawing room to his bedroom, for it was there Lord Hamilton found him upon awakening, with his head in Ophelia’s lap. They were talking together, looking rather solemn but surprisingly companionable and snug. The servant made a quick exit when she saw him, but not before boring her eyes into James meaningfully. James sat up with a certain degree of sluggishness, several small braids adorning his hair.

“Well, well. Good morning, Lieutenant,” chuckled Lord Hamilton.

“Morning,” James groused and lifted his fingers to undo Ophelia’s ministrations.

“Oh no, don’t do that, I think you look rather pretty this way.” James sent him a Look that earned him a chuckled apology. “It was Ophelia, too, then, who did that braid you sported that day – when was it? I think it was when Miranda gave you Don Quixote. Yes, do you remember – the day I was so terribly frustrated with the bad weather?”

“What?!” To Lord Hamilton’s astonishment, James sounded very alarmed.

“There was a braid tucked into your queue, just a small one – barely visible save for when you turned your head at a certain angle.”

“It was her, yes. I thought I had removed them all,” James admitted quickly, but seemed distracted. “It was something we would do as children – ah, well.” Lord Hamilton could see James visibly retreat into himself. He was clearly reluctant to speak of his past, and Lord Hamilton had a feeling that he was privy to much more than James had wanted for anyone at this point in his life, and much more than he was truly welcome to. It came to him that what he knew of James had been relayed only when James wasn’t quite in his right mind, or when he wasn’t present at all. Suddenly he felt like an intruder.

“Shall we eat? Ophelia should already be rousing Miranda.” They went outside to the terrace where the table was set beneath a parasol to protect them from the sun. When Miranda joined them some few moments later, her husband laughed outright at the state of her, and her following scowl did nothing to calm him. James, too, dared an amused smile as she sat down.

“Hush you, Thomas! My things have not been unpacked; I could not find my brush.” The side of her unpainted face held marks from the pillow and her hair was entirely askew, flat against her scull on the one side, and something of a nest on the other.

“Oh, darling, I simply think that you look so marvellous!” Lord Hamilton leaned over and kissed her before he could think of the company. Retreating, he looked cautiously at James, who only smiled into his lap, half guilt and half fondness.

“You mock!”

“Ma’am,” James murmured still looking at his lap.

“Yes, James?”

“Will you let me arrange your hair in something less… chaotic?” Curiosity spiked, Miranda agreed, and James went behind her to rake his fingers cautiously through her hair, pulling it back from her face in a more orderly fashion and, starting at the top of her brow, he made her hair into a perfect braid down her back, then set it fast with his own thread of hemp.

Returning to his seat, James flexed his hands several times, looking curiously at them. He didn’t realise that his company was looking at him with as much curiosity until he looked up and flushed prettily when faced with their heavy gazes.

“I had a younger sister,” he croaked. Lord Hamilton seemed to remember that his sister cut her hair short.

“How do I look, husband?” Miranda pulled the braid over her shoulder.

“Beautiful. Very well done, James.” James favoured his food over a reply, and the others followed his example. “Perhaps we should go over the plans, before anything,” Lord Hamilton suggested at last. “A tour of the grounds and the house should be foremost on our list, what do you say, James? Yes, good. Otherwise today is open for suggestions. And tomorrow?”

“I’m to go to the village tomorrow. Eliza is here, and I haven’t seen her in ages. I might not return before early evening, but we shall see. That is all I have planned, save for doing very little and enjoying myself very much.”

Rising from the table, Lord Hamilton removed his justaucorps and, with a naughty expression, his waistcoat too, and then his cravat. With a quick ‘come along’, he started toward the gardens, James and Miranda at his heels.

A grand open space of grass was before the house, adorned only with a single, though mighty flowerbed on either side of the pale road that led from the main road, through the forest that separated the property from another, and all the way to the front entrance of the red-brick house. It stood tall and proud, like an old man who had yet to succumb to the tiredness of his bones. The surrounding grounds, as most of their part of the land, was forest, and it encircled the house completely.

They walked arm in arm until Miranda broke free and fawned over the flowers, telling them everything of certain rare ones that she was surprised had managed to bloom at all, as they usually were rather difficult to keep in England. When their attention started to wander from flowers and she had to give up her monologue, she picked one red and one yellow rose before approaching them threateningly.

“Stay still!” she commanded, in a very Miranda kind of way, and the men looked at each other with pretended exasperation and James rolled his eyes just as Lord Hamilton sighed.

“You know, the first three days I thought I was the man in this marriage.” Miranda put the flower in the hole of his shirt and pushed him away with an endearing scowl, then put the yellow one through James’ shirt, who curtsied in return, lifting an invisible skirt.

“You were painfully mistaken.”

From there they simply walked in conversation, then returned to the house in an amiable mood. Lord Hamilton gave his promised tour of it, and it was to no one’s surprise that they had to forcibly push James from the library with combined strength. His attention returned in full when they found Lord Hamilton’s sister’s old room. It was filled with various musical instruments, pieces of embroidery that Miranda could only envy, and stacks upon stacks of paintings and sketches that drew James immediately.

“Were you always so damnably tall?” he groaned, looking at a young Thomas between his parents. Lord Hamilton peeked over his shoulder and answered in the affirmative. Already at fifteen he stood taller than his father, but Lord how lanky he had been! “Hm.” James dug deeper, and found a painting that inspired a sudden, sharp sting of melancholy through Lord Hamilton. It was of him and his sister – only their faces beside each other, the mirror they had been looking at so that she could paint them, and the candle beside them. They had sat there for hours, long into the night. He’d been home for break and it was to be the last time they saw each other before she married and moved away. He hadn’t found the time to see her for years, and the regret flared in him something terribly. He would need to see her and soon – for Christmas perhaps.

“Dear God,” he whispered. “Harold will be thirteen in October, and Paul will be around seven – couldn’t he barely talk the last time we saw him?” He turned to Miranda, and almost wanted to fell tears. How could this have happened? Had he been so caught up in his own affairs that he had neglected his own nephews, his sister whom he had been so close with? With dread, he was for the first time glad he hadn’t fathered any children. Would he have treated them the same? Surely no! and yet…

“I see that she was as lucky as you,” James murmured.

“How so?”

With a mischievous smile, James said; “neither of you look anything like your father.” Lord Hamilton laughed, and could’ve kissed him. James was clever enough to turn him from that path – he did not want to spend this weekend thinking of regrets.

“I think he’s started taking after you, Miranda; you are a very bad influence!” A delightful thing, truly, and if he weren’t entirely mistaken, James had just complemented his good looks. No, he was not a vain man – had never been before, but perhaps it was because he had never thought he would need to impress by anything beside his intellect – but James’ words made his fingers tingle and his heart beat harder in his chest.

In the evening, Lord Hamilton entertained them with music, and Miranda would not let the opportunity pass without a dance. James was terribly clumsy, but the wine had gone somewhat to his head, so every time he tripped he would lean in to her and let her set him upright. Nevertheless, Miranda declared him beyond her skill of redemption, so she joined Lord Hamilton before the grand instrument, and they played and sang together. Miranda’s voice was strong and clear, but lacked that accuracy of tone that would make her a great performer. Lord Hamilton hit every note like a hammer on the nail’s head, but he had always been too shy and let her sing the louder. Together, they complimented each other, and no one would find fault, for they were so earnest in their efforts. With his accurate notes and her power, it was magnificent, or so they had been told.

Lord Hamilton studied James as he sang, looking for any reaction. He was not disappointed. James tensed the moment they started singing, and looked at them with pure amazement and turned pink in the cheeks. He seemed to enter a sort of trance, and surfaced only to drink an entire glass of wine in one gulp. He came back with the expression of someone who was certain of their own personal damnation, as if he knew that all hope was lost; he had sailed too far from the shore and hadn’t the strength to row himself back to safe waters. He could only eye the storm on the horizon and enjoy the ride before he was inevitably plunged to his dreaded death.

Lord Hamilton rose from the piano at the end of their performance and held his hand out.

“Do not think me too bold, in asking you for a dance, James. I’ll have you know that there is nothing out of norm about it.” It was the truth, in as much as it was Lord Hamilton’s norm that was in question, for he had often danced with his friends and they had all found it great fun.

Looking like the man who signs his own death-sentence, James agreed, and let himself be guided to the middle of the room.

“I’ll take the female position, as you will benefit more from learning to dance the way of a man. But keep in mind that under any other circumstances, you would not be so lucky.” Lord Hamilton winked, Miranda played, and James turned pliant in his arms, letting himself be led around the room even though he was supposed to do the leading.

Lord Hamilton had never had a better excuse to feel James’ body against his own, to hold his rough workman’s hand in his, and put his cheek against the top of James’ head. He moved slowly, pulling very deliberately this way and that, so James could follow with ease. For a few minutes, Lord Hamilton allowed himself to close his eyes and simply listen to the soft notes of the piano and feel James against him – and he allowed himself to dream, and to think _what if_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter, and as always - thank you so much for reading!
> 
> I've recieved a lot of very inspiring and kind words lately, and I just wanted to give a special thank you to all those who have voted and commented, it makes me incredibly happy to know that my efforts come to something that others enjoy! <3


	21. Chapter Twenty

"I see you've helped yourself to the library." 

"And _you're_ not decent." It was a statement Lord Hamilton couldn't deny.

"Do you mind?" James eyed the expanse of naked chest where Lord Hamilton's light blue dressing gown was tucked somewhat sloppily around him, then travelled down to his bare toes, wriggling their good-mornings. The floor was cold, but even with his robe half open the rest of him was rather hot.

"It's your home," James shrugged nonchalantly, then looked pointedly to his book. A second later his eyes travelled back up Lord Hamilton's form rapidly before he looked away again, frowning as if scolding himself.

His eyes set Lord Hamilton's skin afire, and the room now felt oppressive. Smiling disarmingly, Lord Hamilton grabbed a book without looking at its title and sat down beside James. He tried to read, but the memory of James' eyes was too fresh, and what he could see of the man beside him was too tempting. James sat so confidently; James did everything so confidently, and yet he'd seen him express doubt. Was it all a façade? And if it was – what on earth was swirling beneath it? The man fucked his wife for crying out loud! and sat with him now in tense silence that Lord Hamilton believed had nothing at all to do with the aforementioned affair. What on earth was James doing here, with the two of them?

"James?" He turned from his book and looked at Lord Hamilton with a customary questioning frown; a crease between his eyebrows as he drew them together, his mouth in a tight line – it made his bottom lip jut out more than usual, and Lord Hamilton thought he could bite it and draw it into his mouth quite easily. Having entirely forgotten what he was about to say – or perhaps he called James' name before thinking of how to continue his sentence – he snapped his eyes away from James' mouth and looked up to see his eyes near black. 

"What?" James murmured.

"Nothing," Lord Hamilton whispered in return and swallowed nervously, returning his eyes to his book. He felt James' gaze on him like the touch of a hand for several seconds before he, too, turned away as if it was hardship. Oh, if he only knew what was going on in the silly Lieutenant's head!

Miranda arrived at last about an hour later, and relieved the poor men from their most uncomfortable position, and Lord Hamilton saw from the corner of his eye that they looked at her with matching fond expressions. The little smile on James' face made Lord Hamilton certain, at least, that he was not indifferent toward Miranda.

The woman now stepped in between their heads from the back of the sofa and kissed first James' hair, then her husband's.

"Good morning," she sang, and caressed James subtly. Lord Hamilton watched how James leaned slightly into the touch with hungry eyes, and yet pretended to see nothing at all. Miranda winked at him. "Come along, then – I'm hungry!" At that moment James' stomach growled and they laughed, him mostly form embarrassment.

"I'll have you know that I've been sitting here for hours, even before your husband came and disturbed me!"

"Disturbed you! Lieutenant, I take offense!" James shoved his shoulder as they moved to the breakfast room, and Miranda gave him quite a funny little smile that he didn't half understand. "James, tea or coffee?" James, it turned out, didn't like coffee. Lord Hamilton felt personally offended.

"It's so bitter!" James defended himself.

"Should have known you had a sweet-tooth," Lord Hamilton muttered.

"Well, in that case you should try this, James," Miranda said and offered her cup of hot chocolate with an embarrassing amount of vanilla in. James looked sceptically toward Lord Hamilton, who only nodded in confirmation. James sipped the drink, then took a large gulp, grinning as Miranda gasped; 'thief!'.

"Of course he likes that abomination," Lord Hamilton mumbled indignantly, and went back to his egg, for it was the only thing in the room that deserved his attention.

Miranda left them some time after breakfast to visit her friend and Lord Hamilton went to his quarters to dress himself in a comfortable pair of breeches and stockings, a faded shirt and a pair of sturdy shoes.

"James, would you join me for a walk around the property? I assure you it is quite worth it, especially in this fine weather."

"You're still not decent," he commented teasingly.

"Oh, hang decent, for God's sake. I'll have you dress up in 'decent' and we'll see how long you manage!" They left through a small side-door that was used by the servants, and fell upon a trail which lead them into the woods behind the house. Lord Hamilton linked their arms at the elbow and set a leisurely pace.

Lord Hamilton had spent much of his youth here, he told James, – before they'd sent him to Eton – and had always found it quite enchanting. A multitude of birds flitted past them and jumped from branch to branch above their heads and chirped their songs in a natural symphony. The morning sun slipped through the leaves here and there, giving a vibrant quality to the colours about them. There was a slight breeze to the air, rustling the leaves and taking the edge off the heat. A squirrel shimmied up a tree not ten feet from them, and Lord Hamilton pointed quickly, drawing James' attention. James ginned and leaned into him to say that he saw.

It looked so entirely peaceful, as if the animals lived together in utter harmony, that it was almost impossible to consider that the same rules applied here as in their world of men. Owls hunted at night, wolves sometimes ravaged these woods; the strongest would always win, and the weakest would always suffer. Although strength, in his world, had little to do with muscle, the principle remained the same. The only difference was that the animals acted out of instinct to feed themselves, and so there was no true cruelty in their actions, whereas he had the power to act as he pleased and thus could use his strength to protect the weak, which was what he strived for and why he so detested his father, who would never do such a thing could he avoid it without scandal.

The path led them round a big, moss covered stone, then it split in two and they turned right, which would lead them to the river.

Few words were spoken, for they were loathe to disturb the peace of the moment. Lord Hamilton had shortened his steps to stay in rhythm with James, and kept him close by the elbow. Luckily, it seemed that James was quite comfortable with their proximity. Lord Hamilton looked at him, shamelessly. He felt, almost, as if he was allowed to look at him now; he was the centremost figure of the scene – no master of the art would neglect to include him in their painting and therefore Lord Hamilton must be allowed to appreciate that inclusion.

What he saw made him dizzy. James walked with a smile on his face that looked as close to demure as a man could be. He looked delicate amidst the creatures of the forest. As nimble, as agile and quick as them. One should think, perhaps, that a man such a James, with his strong shoulders and general callousness would look a beast among such beauty. It was not so. James wore his hair down and he was dressed in light colours; his cotton shirt was a soft white and open in the neck, exposing vulnerable flesh at his throat and down his chest. His brown breeches sat more snugly than the ones he wore for his uniform – Lord Hamilton guessed that they were an old pair, from when he was not so strongly built – and it made him look taller, yes, but also thinner and less threatening.

James looked around him with candid curiosity and it made him unsteady on his feet, but he relied on Lord Hamilton to steer him and set him a-right when he swayed too far to either side. It was a task Lord Hamilton took to with pride and more excitement than what was proper, but no one were there to see them, and they were already walking almost naked in the wilderness, so it made little difference.

When they at last heard the trickling of water, James looked to Lord Hamilton with a cocked eyebrow, and hastened his steps until they emerged from the woods unto the bank of a river. It was not a very wide river, but at this point it was at its deepest, although they could see the tops of rocks poking from the water further down and dividing the stream. Since the last time he'd been there, a tree had fallen over and was stretching its branches like arms over the water. James beamed at him.

"Can you swim?" he enquired, clearly excited.

"Yes, but it has been a while – are you suggesting that we go _in the river_?"

"Why not?" James pulled his shirt over his head and Lord Hamilton's brain stumbled in his head. That was not fair play at all. "Come on!" Compelled by the sight of James' fair skin and the downright obscene number of freckles on him, Lord Hamilton couldn't begin to form a denial, so he removed his own shirt, only hesitating – frozen in his movement to put his shirt on the ground – when James stepped out of his breeches and stood only in the white, flimsy material of his underclothes. James wore – well, it couldn't quite be called underclothes, could it? The piece of linen covered the most essential, but stopped short when it was barely past his – uh, his arse. Lord Hamilton sent a prayer for strength, and found himself increasingly hesitant to remove his own breeches due to the situation unfurling in his own – decent-looking – underclothes. Oh, what agony! He ached! “Well? Come on, then!” James urged, and Lord Hamilton pushed his breeches and stocking off in a go. 

James rose his arms to his hair and pulled it back, he – Christ Almighty – he made a braid of it the same way he had done for Miranda the day before. Lord Hamilton stared blatantly. He looked – well, James could never look like a woman, but he did look _pretty_ , in a feminine way, and dear God above – it was not a bad look on him. Lord Hamilton went lightheaded.

James grinned, let his eyes travel downward to what remained of Lord Hamilton’s clothes – his _very decent_ underclothes – and rose one perfect eyebrow when he looked back up, as if to say; ‘what on earth do you call that ridiculous garment?’.

Then he whirled around and jumped from the bank of the river – a few feet above the water – and twisted backward. Shocked, Lord Hamilton saw James flip his entire body around and – incredulously – land in the water with his feet first, although Lord Hamilton had been sure than he would land on his head. James whooped when he surfaced and grinned widely from excitement.

“God, I haven’t done that in I don’t know how many years! What are you waiting for, my lord?!” Seeing no option, Lord Hamilton clamped his thumb and index finger over his nose to keep it from getting filled with water, and jumped – quite normally, thank you very much – off the riverbank. The moment he was in the river his entire body froze in an instant. He hadn’t thought it would be so _cold_! He surfaced and gasped, making a shrill, undignified sound, and scrambled to brush the water from his eyes and kick his feet to stay afloat. When he opened his eyes he saw James further away than he’d expected to find him.

“Thomas!” James stretched his entire length and only barely got his foot within grabbing-distance. Lord Hamilton circled his delicate ankle with one trembling hand and used James’ leg to pull himself closer to where James was holding on to the fallen tree. Hand over hand, he clasped James’ calf, his thigh – his thick, hard thigh – and finally reached his one outstretched hand. He let James pull him closer against the pull of the river, until he could at last grab hold of the tree as well. “Great idea, my lord! Go ahead and let the stream pull you along and dash you against the stones, wouldn’t that be fun?” James panted. “Almost gave me a fit when you popped up down there!”

“’s bloody cold!” Lord Hamilton whimpered. James laughed at him, looking entirely at ease – although Lord Hamilton saw that his lips were loosing their pretty, pink colouring.

James passed him and swam to the riverbank, resisting the stream, and hauled himself from the river. Water poured from him and – Lord Almighty – his underclothes were entirely, completely, indisputably see-through and clutched his behind like a possessive lover.

James stood up and Lord Hamilton made to follow him, knowing that he would not be much better off – although his material was thicker – but slipped as he put his foot to the wet grass. He would never admit that his attention had been diverted by the fact that _he could see_ the trail of hair leading between James’ – well. He felt himself go crimson, and wanted to put his head under water again, but James – damn him – turned around to lend him a hand. Lord Hamilton’s mouth went dry. If the sight of James’ behind had been distracting, this was enough to make him dizzy. He could see, without the shadow of a doubt, where James’ member poked his underclothes. Not only could he see it – but he could see the entire outlining of his length, for the material of said underclothes was so wet it clung here too. It was so wet and so flimsy Lord Hamilton could see the _colour_ of his member and the curly hair surrounding it. It was a red-ish blond.

He sucked in a sharp, painful breath, and grabbed James’ hand, letting him pull him from the water, trembling as he was from the cold.

James didn’t let go as fast as he should’ve. He held on to Lord Hamilton’s hand and their eyes met hesitantly. James’ eyes were a brilliant green in the sunlight, and the way his hair was pulled back from his face in that braid was mesmerising. It left only his face, his gorgeous, perfect, face with its few freckles and pale skin. It left only the creases beside his mouth as he smiled hesitantly, and his sharp jaw, and those thick, ginger eyebrows that were now completely relaxed.

“Thank you,” Lord Hamilton breathed and turned away to press his eyes closed and take several calming breaths. His hands were shaking.

When he turned around again to find his pile of clothing, James stood stark naked on the grass, bent at the hip, rummaging through his own pile until he found his old shirt and stood up to dry himself off, completely unashamed in his nudity. Until he saw Lord Hamilton looking at him with round eyes. Then, he blushed.

“Sorry, I – I’m used to, well. You saw the cabin. And I didn’t want to wear the wet clothing under the dry ones, might get sick.” James shrugged, and Lord Hamilton nodded. James was _naked_. With a glance south, Lord Hamilton saw his actual prick, poking the side of his thigh and snuggling his balls. He almost whimpered.

“You’re right,” he croaked and turned away. He was hard and throbbing between his thighs and no number of calming breaths could help him. He removed his underclothes and once they were off, something soft landed over his lower back and arse. Curious, he pulled it off, finding it to be James’ shirt.

“Might as well leave at least one garment dry.” Lord Hamilton accepted it without a word, and dried himself off with the shirt, struggling terribly to keep his mind blank, instead of wandering to where exactly this shirt had been just seconds before it caressed his own body.

Lord Hamilton threw the shirt back and pulled his breeches on in a hurry, arranging his hard member to make it as invisible as possible. He put his stockings on, but let them sit around his ankles, then shimmied into his shirt and stepped into the shoes.

When he turned, he saw that James hadn’t put his shirt back on. In fact, he was wearing only his breeches and they were riding low on his hips – so low he could see the trail of hair that lead to his groin. The rest of his garments were over his shoulder or in his hand. He started walking, barefooted in the grass, and Lord Hamilton could not but follow, attention entirely on the dark braid trailing down James’ strong, exposed back in a most teasing manner, over the bulging muscles that shifted with every step.

“Are you still cold?”

“No, the sun warms me. It was very fresh, actually. It was nice, thank you.”

“I spend so much time _on_ the water I’ve almost forgotten how good it is to be _in_ it. We haven’t much time for it.” They halted only once on their way back, when they reached the grass surrounding the house, for Lord Hamilton to remove his shoes and stockings. The feel of the grass beneath his feet and between his toes was wonderfully fresh and grounding.

The cook couldn’t be found, but James was not deterred, although Lord Hamilton said, repeatedly, that he was not _that_ hungry, even if his stomach was growling. They laid their things in a heap in the entrance hall and ventured into the servants’ section of the house, to the kitchens. Rummaging in cupboards and storerooms, James found cheeses and biscuits, a bottle of French red, fresh grapes and some dark bread that he seemed to prefer over anything decent. Upon request, Lord Hamilton found a basket, their books from that morning, and a blanket. They ventured back outside and spread their things under the shadow of some blooming fruit trees.

The afternoon was spent eating, drinking, and reading. The wine loosened Lord Hamilton, stopped him from tensing awkwardly when he gazed too long at James and the obscene amount of flesh he was showing, and James looked at him just the same – held his eyes when he talked, watched his mouth as he formed words.

“Do you think we can change who we are?” Lord Hamilton asked, interrupting their reading. “What I mean is – are we born to be the way we are?”

“This is going to need my attention, isn’t it?” James cocked and eyebrow, and smirked crookedly, fondly.

“Not if you don’t want to, but you have learned by now that I am fond of a discussion.” Nodding, James put his book down and moved, laying down in the grass in front of Lord Hamilton, putting them face to face, only so close that Lord Hamilton could reach him if he stretched his arm out. The sun was beating down on his body.

“James! You’ll turn all brown if you lay there!” It seemed to be a hilarious comment, although Lord Hamilton did not quite understand why.

“Fucking lordling,” James chuckled. “I’m a sailor, Thomas. No amount of careful hiding will keep me from getting brown.” Lord Hamilton flushed, hiding his face in his book.

“Are we born to be who we are, James?” Lord Hamilton tried urgently to hide his embarrassment.

“Well, I don’t know!” He seemed to consider the question, folding his arms under his chin and resting on them. “You ask if we are given a personality, or if our upbringing shapes us completely? Well, me and my sister were brought up in the same way I suppose, and I liked to read while she liked to hit things. Part of us has to be predestined, then, don’t you think?” Lord Hamilton considered this, setting his book aside and mirroring James’ position.

“Yes, but then – do not take this the wrong way – girls tend to prefer reading more than boys, and boys tend to prefer hitting things. It seems to me that both of you refused to do what was expected of you and therefore it might be that your upbringing made you contrary. Does that make sense?”

“Oh.” James’ eyebrows creased, he let an arm escape to fiddle with the grass beside Lord Hamilton’s elbow. “But then, why did I end up here? Not compared to my sister, but others who have grown up under the same circumstances. I’m having this conversation with a Lord of Parliament, I am discussing with him and he cares to listen to my comments, while they’re doing what their fathers did – marrying the girl next door, work the riggings on a merchant vessel for a pittance or slaving on the docks same as they’ve done their entire lives.”

“Perhaps your conditions weren’t the same, or perhaps something happened to you to make you want to escape the life you led?”

“But who would not want that? My conditions were not different from any others’. My father beat me some times and he drank too much. Every father I’ve known does this, all the boys says it. I got away – I didn’t want to become that, but they didn’t either. Don’t mean they didn’t end up exactly like the fathers they detested and I’m here. I got an opportunity with Admiral Hennessey, but I know of others who had similar opportunities and let them pass. I would not settle, but they did.”

“So you advocate that we’re born a certain way, and can’t help it?” Lord Hamilton didn’t like that, he wanted more control in his life than that and he wanted to believe that people could become better.

“’course we can help it. We’re not born to like hurting people – well most aren’t anyway – but if that’s all we know that’s what we’ll do. I think. I don’t know, my lord, I haven’t read much philosophy. My lack of education is showing again.” He looked endearingly frustrated, so Lord Hamilton reached out and caressed the vein bulging, running from the crook of his elbow. “You’re afraid people can’t help being pricks, but they can. We might be born with certain… inclinations, but we can always decide whether to act on them or not.” James’ arm twitched under Lord Hamilton’s finger as if he wanted to draw away, but he didn’t. “Like you really want to kick this beggar because he’s being really bothersome, and you always kick something when you’re annoyed, but then you know it would be mean so you don’t even though you want to, because you strive to be a better person.” Lord Hamilton couldn’t quite follow that argument, so he focused on circling a cluster of freckles on James’ underarm.

“You’re so strong,” he muttered.

“Not that strong. You should see Anthony. Could bend a metal poker.” Lord Hamilton pushed the sleeve of his shirt past his elbow and stretched his arm out beside James’.

“But look – my arm is so slender and yours is practically bulging with power. See, I don’t have that vein visible here, because my muscle don’t need so much blood as yours because it’s smaller, but yours do!” How big had that bottle of wine been?

“Makes me look quite uncivilised I’m afraid. Oh, the lot of working men!” Lord Hamilton wouldn’t tell him that he quite liked it, so he pulled his arm away reluctantly.

“What happened to your sister?” He hadn’t meant to ask.

“Sickness. Took the lot of them. I wasn’t home, or I wouldn’t be here.” His entire family. How old had he been? Lord Hamilton shivered, apologising.

A little while later, Lord Hamilton fell asleep in the warmth of the day underneath the shadows of the trees. He dozed and lost track of time, but hadn’t the will to wake up for he felt so utterly peaceful and at ease that he daren’t break the spell.

When he awoke at last, it was to the gentle brushing of fingers through his hair. He blinked and found James asleep beside him, face turned toward him. His mouth was open the littlest bit and he made some low half-grunts now and then, wriggling his nose and shifting slightly.

“Isn’t he gorgeous when he sleeps?” Miranda muttered. She must have sensed that he was awake.

“Beautiful.”

“I drew you. I couldn’t resist. You lie in the exact same position, facing each other like two little boys. I take it you have enjoyed your day.”

“More than I could ever hope for. James?” When James didn’t wake up at the third call of his name, Lord Hamilton gave in and stroked his fingers down his cheek, ran them along his neck and shoulder before grabbing it in a light touch and shaking him. Otherwise he hadn’t moved, he was still on his side, facing James, and watched when he blinked himself awake as well, returning to consciousness with an easy smile on his face.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen, I was reading.” James sounded like a beast the way is voice had gone gruff and rumbling from sleep.

“Do you regret it?”

“I regret nothing.” He sat up on his knees and stretched – arching his back, throwing his arms above his head, scrunching up his face and screwing his eyes shut. In the back of his mind, Lord Hamilton noted that he looked incredibly like a ginger cat, but he hadn’t the presence of mind to scratch him behind the ear and make a joke of it – he was too preoccupied with drinking in the sight of him.

James let his hands fall to his hair and he undid his braid meticulously, carded his fingers through his hair and ruffled it. When he opened his eyes, he started visibly. Lord Hamilton and Miranda were both staring. The water combined with the tight braid had made James’ hair wavy. After the attention of his hands it lay over his chest and had gained an unusual volume. He looked as if he’d spent days in the wilderness, and dear God, Lord Hamilton almost swooned.

“Oh, James!” Miranda exclaimed, and he only looked from one of them to the other, confused and worried with round, green eyes that seemed to say; ‘why are you looking at me like that?’. An endearing cry for help if there ever was one. “You look so handsome! Look at you – you look almost like a woman!”

“Interesting how you can make that sound like a compliment,” James replied dryly, but Miranda only crawled over her husband and fawned over him, bringing all the hair over his shoulders; putting it behind his ear on one side, then on both; cupped his face with it. It was a ridiculous thought – surely James was older than Miranda – but Lord Hamilton thought she looked like a proud mother sending her son back to school after break. Lord Hamilton’s own mother had done something very similar to him many times.

James was stunned. He squirmed and had a look of panic in his eyes, but Miranda didn’t seem to notice. He sent a silent cry for help toward Lord Hamilton, but he was too busy looking at him to notice.

“You do look… quite pretty,” Lord Hamilton admitted at last, licking his lips for they had gone dry. James scowled. “And I do mean it as a compliment, not an insult. Why do you not wear your hair down when I have seen that you prefer it?”

“It’s not proper,” James answered and batted away Miranda’s hands, rising and locating his shirt to tie it around his hips like a belt. “Should we take the things inside? The wine has worn off and I feel a need for more.” They gathered the things between them and Miranda draped an arm around her husband’s hips as they returned to the house. With her other hand she linked fingers with James and he didn’t pull away. What a picture they must have made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been planning and looking forward to this chapter almost since beginning this story and had great plans for it because it's kind of a turning point for them where James and Thomas get to be alone, away from things, and just be themselves. I hope this shone through and that this was good! Whenever I plan something in my head before actually writing it out I always feel like it doesn't end up as good as I planned it to be, but I hope that this was satisfactory!
> 
> Any feed-back is greatly appreciated, as always! Thank you so much for reading - we're nearing the really interesting parts now so hang in there dear readers! :)


	22. Chapter Twenty-One

The sun set over the treetops and painted the sky in reds and pinks as a clutter of birds took to the air as one and flew away in formation. James was lying on his back on the terrace and throwing grapes in the air to catch them with his mouth. He failed more often than not. Miranda sat on the barrister, swaying her feet and looked far, far away from reality. Lord Hamilton himself was sprawled in a chair, emptying what was left of the whiskey straight from the bottle. His legs fell wide open as he slid further down on his seat. It was still comfortably warm in the air and they could see each other with ease although the true light was failing; the sky was still a faded blue after the sun had disappeared.

“Open up,” James called à propos nothing.

“What?”

“Open up!”

“Open _what_?” A grape came flying and hit Lord Hamilton squarely between the legs. James snickered. He threw another. This time it ended up between Miranda’s breasts.

“Sorry!” He didn’t sound apologetic at all. “And you too, my lord, I was aiming for your mouth.”

“You missed by almost two feet.” James grunted and flung another grape toward Lord Hamilton. It bounced off the head of his penis and he yelped. “You’re very bad at that. You must be a terrible shot.” James sat up and turned to look at him. He made certain that he held Lord Hamilton’s gaze before he drew his arm back and threw another grape. It hit him squarely on the lips. James laid back down, looking far too smug.

All turned to silence again, except the swooshing of the wind in the trees and an occasional hum from Miranda.

The sky darkened quickly when it first began, and the air turned crisp. Miranda joined James on the stone floor of the terrace and lay on his arm with one hand on his chest. Lord Hamilton fetched a blanket and put it over them, then situated himself on the other side of James and looked up at the stars.

“Can you navigate, James?” The man snorted.

“’course I can navigate. That’s the north star, your starting-point.” He pointed at the sky, as if either of them would have any chance at all to know which star he was pointing at.

“Which one?”

“That one!” He pointed harder.

“Did you shit your brains out?” Miranda inquired primly.

“Fuck you.” Miranda mumbled something inappropriate. “The bright one, above the stars that form the wagony thing.”

“The wagony thing? Like the beary thing and the belty thing?” James pinched Lord Hamilton hard in the side, making his brain dance and sing: _heavens above, he touched me_!

“That’s north,” James groused. “Don’t ask me to explain the rest, your brains are too small to comprehend, or even consider, the mighty art of navigation.” Lord Hamilton translated this to: I am too drunk to remember what else needs to be done, please leave me alone.

When they turned to bed that night, Lord Hamilton felt happier than he had in a very long time. The moments he now had had with James were of such an intimate nature that he hardly knew what to think of the man’s intentions or his feelings. He seemed to have no reservations left and part of Lord Hamilton was pleased beyond measure. However, the other part was grieving for James, who had so few others to turn to, which was certainly the reason for the way he had now finally and completely jumped at Lord Hamilton’s offer of being one such person.

“Miranda?” They lay face to face on their pillows, affected somewhat by drink, but not much anymore. He wanted to hold her and to feel her. He simply took her hand. “I think you should go to James tonight.” She didn’t seem to understand why this made sense to him. “It has been a perfect day, and it deserves a perfect ending.”

“But what about you?” His smile was not bitter, and he hid his resignation.

“There will be no helping it for me, I will be happiest knowing that the two of you can be together intimately.” For the other option was not an option at all. Miranda left. He saw that it didn’t please her, but he would not be argued with; she saw it in his eyes.

Lord Hamilton lay down, and imagined that he could hear their moans and the slap of their bodies as they met in frantic ecstasy. He took himself in hand and imagined the sight of James’ wide, sweaty back, Miranda’s legs around his hips, the muscles of his arse clenching with every thrust and his wild hair flying as he shook it out of his face. For the first time in many, many years, Lord Hamilton put a finger in his mouth, then brought it down to press inside himself. Between that, his other hand on his cock, and the memory of James’ naked body before him, he shot across the sheets with enough force to wet the pillow beside him.

*

The following day was spent lazily; James lay half naked outside with a bottle of wine and a glass that never stayed empty, Miranda dozed on the sofa, and Lord Hamilton wandered aimlessly through familiar rooms and the memories they brought. It was peaceful in its simplicity. Nothing was expected of them, no pressing matter could be attended to; they didn’t even expect each other’s company, and it was wonderfully freeing.

After lunch, James and Thomas spent some time entertaining Miranda in the grass; James was trying to teach him how to fence. It was doomed to fail from the outset, but James could not be discouraged, and Miranda enjoyed herself far too much.

After showing him the basic steps and slashes, James lost his patience and attacked – gently, like a tiger playing with a mouse before it eats it. The eating part came when Lord Hamilton simply gave up and started waving the stupid sword back and forth in front of his face. James threw his sword aside and grabbed Lord Hamilton’s arm, hit it just hard enough to surprise him and make him drop his own, then _lifted_ him into the air and made them both tumble to the ground. Before he rightly knew what had happened James’ legs were tight as a vice around him and his arms were locked around his throat.

“I yield! Mercy, Lieutenant – I am no match for you!” he croaked as best he could through his pressured windpipe.

“There, good lad.” James patted him on the head and let him up. Lord Hamilton was breathing hard and had a very curious situation in his trousers. He seemed to constantly have that reaction when in James’ vicinity, and it was becoming quite bothersome. Even more so for the fact that he couldn’t simply order it to stop. It was ever-present and he was going mad.

Half an hour later they were set to go, and climbed into the carriage where James had forgotten both his hat and his big coat upon arrival, then they rolled toward home.

The delicious feeling of freedom and easiness lasted even after the sky opened its floodgates and tried to drown their poor horses, and even when they saw London in the distance for the first time, rain-heavy clouds looming threateningly above the city, dark grey and mixing with the smog in a sinister way.

Due to the rain, they first drove James to his lodgings and they bid their merry goodbyes, congratulating themselves and each other on a very successful trip.

Lord Hamilton, upon entering his own house, was immediately made aware of several important letters that had come for him. With a tired sigh he retreated immediately to his study. It was exactly as he had left it, except it now lay in darkness, whereas the sun had caressed every surface the day he left. Now, the dark wood looked almost threatening, deprived of all colour and life. It was a stark contrast to the wonderful place he had come from, and seemed to bring ill tidings. Lord Hamilton found himself unusually reluctant to return to his work, but sat down in his chair nevertheless, and opened the letters one by one.

Nathaniel invited him for a visit, but gave no sort of an explanation or reason, which was troubling; usually he had Lord Hamilton prepare to discuss a certain subject or book between the two of them. The Lord Chief Baron of the Exchequer was displeased with him, as usual, and Baron John Somers and his Whigs were much too smug about the passing of the Regency Act, that they had to personally tell him about, only to rub it in.

At the bottom of the pile lay a letter with his father's stamp. Something seized in his chest. He wasn't afraid of his father, per se; certainly not like he had been as a child, but the thought of James, his affair with Miranda (and the accompanying rumours that Lord Hamilton had recently heard whispers of) as well as their excursion this weekend had him worried; he did not want to give his father any more ammunition than he already had, in case something should go wrong. And Lord Hamilton was terribly afraid that something might – very soon.

All that remained now was to propose his plan to his father, and see if he could persuade him to be a better man.

Lord Hamilton opened the letter and read it over quickly. His father would arrive the very next day.

"Fuck me." He was picking up bad language from James – Miranda had already noticed and found it wonderfully funny – but he did not have James’ growl, so it sounded less an expletive and more a plea to be thoroughly romanced. He rubbed his hands over his face. No time to recuperate – none at all. His father was coming home _tomorrow_. And he would need to talk of his proposition concerning the pirates.

Pirates. Such loathing lay in that word. They weren't men any longer, they were monsters, animals in the eye of civilised society. But who were they, really? From what Lord Hamilton had heard, pirates were made up of Navy deserters, merchant sailors, even cannibals and former slaves. In all reality, James could become a pirate. But why did they leave? Their conditions? He heard that neither the Navy nor the merchant vessels were particularly overbearing with their crew. Was it the nature of the reprisals against them? He would have to ask James what exactly they did to disobedient sailors, and why so many deserted. 

Surely it was the sign of something very wrong with their military forces. Perhaps that was where Lord Hamilton needed to put his attention next, to avoid a continual of desertions that would turn even more men into pirates even after he – were he successful – had removed the current ones from the Bahamas.

The more he thought of the world, the more he felt overwhelmed and powerless – and that a man who was supposed to be one of the most powerful in the country.

What could you do, when all the problems were intertwined? To make a real difference, a _lasting _difference, you would need to change the _entire system_ that made the pillars of their society, and such changes were simply impossible to achieve in one man’s lifetime.__

__Lord Hamilton groaned and bowed his head to the desk. There was simply so much to do, so much to fight for, and the only thing he could be certain of was the resistance that would meet him._ _

__It didn’t matter; he had to do what he felt was his duty, and right now, that was saving the pirates of Nassau and the surrounding isles, and he had only to-day to do it; tomorrow the lives of hundreds of pirates lay in the hands of Alfred Hamilton, and he did not like their odds. Had he truly ever been able to reason with his father? He could reason the hat off anyone, but only if they were listening, and Alfred was not often so inclined._ _

__Lord Hamilton set his jaw stubbornly and went to work on how to propose his idea to his father and how to argue for it in a way that might be appreciated. He sat there in that chair until the early hours of the morning._ _

__*_ _

__He was going on less than four hours of sleep, he was sure, and with his stomach in knots he could only suffer half an egg and some ham for breakfast, while constantly refilling his cup with strong, black coffee. Usually he took it with milk, but this was the day of a battle – somehow the bitterness of it felt appropriate._ _

__“Cook!” he went to the kitchens himself, observing the busy room sternly. “My father will be dining with us tonight. I have special reason to want him in a particularly good mood. I expect your very best efforts and only the freshest products you can find on so short notice. I’ll let you decide on the menu; you know his tastes, after all.” He stormed out of the kitchen, not out of anger, but anxiety, and almost ran his wife over. “Father is coming.”_ _

__“What? Now?!” Miranda panicked, though to her credit, less than could be expected. The relationship between her and her father-in-law had never been a good one, but the old man couldn’t deny the union when it was still in a state of negotiation; the benefits far outweighed his own personal feelings against her. “Oh dear. Do you need anything, Thomas? anything at all?”_ _

__Lord Hamilton shifted, agitated. He needed – something, yes. But what exactly? It was on the tip of his tongue, if he could just – “I need James,” he realised. “I need him immediately. Hello – you there! Send someone – no, forget it, I’m too disturbed.” Lord Hamilton grabbed his wife’s hand and pulled her into the drawing room where he sat down and motioned for her to join him. His feet bounced on the floor, but he willed himself to stop them, only twisting the ring around his finger._ _

__“Thomas?”_ _

__“I am about,” he began, looking at the floor but not really seeing it, “to do something that might be very dangerous.” His eyes flitted to her and away again quickly. “Something that I feel is completely necessary for our cause. My father will not like it, but I have hopes that he will be reasonable enough to admit the benefits of the proposal and thus be swayed. But – I’m afraid.” It was easy to admit, to her at least._ _

__“Will you tell me about it?”_ _

__He nodded, and told her everything, including his hesitations and worries, and there were many. Too many. It started raining heavily._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally make them sound like alcoholics... they're not ok - people drunk literally 5 times more in this period than we do now... I feel justified 0:)
> 
> I hope this was good - a bit of a filler chapter so it's not very long, but I hope that's alright.
> 
> As I won't post before Christmas - Happy Holidays to all of you, no matter what you celebrate, or if you don't celebrate anything in particular at all, I hope you have a good time!
> 
> Votes and comments are always appreciated <3 Thank you so much for reading!


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two

He had gone over it in his head a million times. How to propose it to James, to his father. He knew the words by heart.

The door opened and he heard James and Miranda whisper to each other. James seemed worried. The message had been simple; ‘I need to speak with you, it is urgent’. Poor James must have turned his brain inside out to figure out what it might be about. Well, Lord Hamilton had no room for pity today.

It had grown cold with the rain and the wind, which was steadily increasing in strength. Lord Hamilton was leaning against the mantle of the fireplace, staring into the dancing flames and listened to the crackling of it, whishing it would be louder than the rain on the windows.

He didn’t turn when he heard James’ approaching footsteps at last. He wasn’t yet brave enough.

“He’ll be arriving in less than two hours.”

“I’m sorry? Who?” James sounded stiff, uncomfortable. Well, so did he, he supposed. He must seem very dismissing, refusing to look at him.

“The fourth Earl of Ashbourne, Lord Proprietor to the Carolina colony including the Bahama islands and peer of the realm. Lord Alfred Hamilton.” Thomas swallowed and turned around. It was almost a surprise to see James fully clothed and in his uniform again. “My father.” Realisation dawned. “I’m told he expects a full report of our efforts to form a plan for the management of Nassau.”

“And you’re concerned how he’ll receive it?” Oh – dear, sweet James, so ignorant in this matter – what a shock this must be for him.

“I’m concerned how he’ll receive one particular part of it,” Lord Hamilton acknowledged, approaching with a nervous hand on his ring again. “The part you and I have yet to discuss.” James didn’t look affronted at this, as Lord Hamilton thought he might, but instead offered a confused little smile.

“I didn’t think we had one of those.” Lord Hamilton chuckled, teased for his eagerness to discuss anything and everything; knowing that had the words been said by a woman – and with that expression James had on his face – she would be flirting. It still felt like flirting to Lord Hamilton. He swallowed his emotions and his fears, and sobered.

“These past few months I have come to trust you, very much.” He held James’ gaze for a moment, giving weight to the admission. James looked away in guilt. “Which is why I feel I can ask for your help. When my father arrives, I intend to propose something to him that can be very dangerous, politically.” And dangerous, too, to suggest it to James, who could reject it completely and therefore Lord Hamilton would lose any connection to the Admiralty and any credibility in their eyes.

“What is it you want me to help you with?” Oh, but he was so earnest in his manner, like he truly wanted to help to the very best of his abilities. Lord Hamilton didn’t know what he would do, should James refuse him.

“I want you to try to talk me out of it,” Lord Hamilton admitted, a bit shy, but hopeful. It had been Miranda’s idea, and it was brilliant. Who better, to find all the weak points of a proposal and take the most negative outlook? If James couldn’t talk him out of it – who could? James nodded, barely, an uncertain smile on his face. “Will you have a seat?” As the Lieutenant unclipped the sword from his belt and sat down, Lord Hamilton paced the room and considered again how to phrase his proposal. Then he decided to just get the hell on with it.

“We have reasonable proposals to recruit men for the expedition, to precure supplies and to ferry them, but it will be the approach to dealing with the Nassau pirates by which the entire plan will be judged.”

“I feel that’s where we’re strongest.” Lord Hamilton laughed in his mind, and thought, _of course you do, it was your bloody plan_. “Targeted raid on the beach under cover from the two men-of-war, public trials and hangings of roughly a dozen of the ringleaders, and the replacement of the governor with an officer of our choosing. It’s precise, it’s affordable, and it will play well with the Sea Lords.”

Lord Hamilton sent a mental apology, then trudged on. “I understand that’s the expected proposal – the safest one – but it is not the one I would like to make. When my father arrives, I would like to propose to him that we don’t hang the pirates. That we pardon them.” He looked up at James and found exactly what he expected, ridicule. It felt as if they’d reversed months back, to when James was still almost a stranger.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” He had the audacity to seem to think it a poor joke. It was not.

“I want to pardon them.” He couldn’t look at James, his voice was barely above a whisper. James fell silent.

“You want to pardon them?” Disbelief, incredulity, people thinking he was mad wherever he turned, as if he hadn’t _considered_ –!

“Yes.”

“How many?” James asked, and he answered at the same time; “All of them.”

“All right.” The cat was out of the bag, and he couldn’t take it back. James looked confused, uncertain, mulling over the idea in his head seemingly at a frantic pace, to figure out what this would mean and to get his head back above the water. Lord Hamilton fired his shot.

“The island needs commerce to survive, it needs – it needs labour, it needs men and women invested in this interest. Don’t these men fit that description? Couldn’t they become part of the solution?” He couldn’t stay still, not with James so entirely frozen on his chair. He raised his voice as if it would help his argument, and he already sounded as if he was fighting a losing battle.

“You don’t need me to answer that.”

“They’re men!” He threw his arms to the side, pointing out the obvious. James seemed to disagree with the statement.

“They’re traitors to the Crown.” No longer men, beasts.

“What difference does that make?!” He knew that this would be an argument, but it was so pathetic, and he was done with their childish behaviour! Could they honestly not see what he did?

“It makes a difference to the Crown.” What had he expected, truly, from a man of the Navy? After all, that was what James was. Lord Hamilton seemed to have forgotten.

“Just answer me this –” he advanced on James, pressing him, begging him to just _listen_ , for somebody to just _hear him out_ for fucking once! He calmed himself. “Would it work?” At least James didn’t look him in the eye as he called him an idiot.

“To pardon a traitor is the act of a coward. And given our current war footing precisely _no one_ in Whitehall wants to wear that label right now. If you propose this to your father, he will almost certainly distance himself from it, and most likely from you.” James looked at him sternly, willing him to concede to his point. Lord Hamilton looked away stubbornly, angrily, sadly. “If you’re asking me as your liaison to the Admiralty,” James stood up, holding his sword between his hands and walked toward him, “my advice to you is that this is a manoeuvre only to be approached with utmost caution.” James would not be swayed. Lord Hamilton leaned his weight against the chair in front of him. “But as your friend, I suggest you forget you ever thought of it,” James growled. At last Lord Hamilton understood his reservations. James was concerned for him, he didn’t hide it on his face anymore; it was evident. Lord Hamilton rose his head and looked at him defiantly, promising that he dared take the risk.

“James!” he urged. “We cannot let all those men die. I know that they are guilty, I know that they are murderers, but who made them that in the first place? Know you of not one former colleague who turned to piracy? Who was treated unjustly and with malice by those more powerful than him? Nobody would want the life of a pirate, if what they already had was at least sufferable. Society has failed these men, James, not the other way around.”

“What obligations do we have to them? I might know names of former shipmates who have turned to piracy, but more of my acquaintances are dead by the hand of a pirate!”

“What obligations?! What obligations did you have to William when you protected him as a boy? None! It is the same; we do what is _right_ , James, we act with _kindness_ and we get kindness in return. We act like human beings, and we will see that they can too.”

“You seem to forget,” James said, looking away, “that I left that place at the first opportunity and didn’t look back. His father loved him no better than mine loved me.”

*

The Earl never looked happy, but today he looked outright angry. Lord Hamilton had left James to go dress himself in his finery and even Miranda had changed her entire costume. She was beautiful, but he hadn’t the mind to appreciate it.

“Father, how was your travel from the country?” The Earl barely glanced at him as he pushed rudely through between man and wife.

“Wet,” he barked, and Lord Hamilton was not surprised; it was still raining, and thunder could be heard nearby.

They went directly to the dining room where James stood with his hands clasped behind his back, immaculate uniform, accompanied by the servants. It was more than uncomfortable to go into this without knowing whether James would draw swords and fight with him, or not. He had given no further indication of his feelings on the matter.

“Lieutenant McGraw, I presume.”

“Yes, sir.” The Earl barely nodded at him before he sat down. The first few minutes were spent in formal inquiries after the others’ health and it was pleasant for nobody. The Earl only looked at Miranda to express his displeasure, and ignored James entirely. Eventually, Thomas cut short the agony, and told his father everything about their plan to regain control of their territories and see a rise in profitability. Everything, except what to do with the pirates.

Thomas talked only. His father said not a word, showed no reaction, and apart from eating, both Miranda and James seemed to sit as still as they possibly could, only trading glances every so often, as if they hoped to be invisible. When dessert came, Thomas had given the outline of their plans and as much detail as was necessary. He studied James in the following silence, and James dared finally to study the Earl, who seemed to see nothing as he wiped his mouth with the napkin deliberately slowly to stretch the silence.

Then the Earl continued eating for a while.

“Well, I think you’re most optimistic about the Admiralty’s willingness to outfit these ships you assume you can precure.” A servant refilled James’ glass of wine again. “But as for the rest of it, you have a reasonable proposal. Do you agree, lieutenant?”

“Yes, yes I would, sir.” James gulped down his drink anxiously.

“I see. Although perhaps we can discuss the one element –” Thomas looked up at his father and steeled himself mentally for what was inevitably to come, “– you’ve so conveniently elected to ignore. What about the pirate raiders of Nassau?” Silence followed, in which Thomas looked at James to his left and saw the lieutenant beg him with anything but words to not do it. Thomas cocked his head to the side, determined.

“I want to put them to work.”

“To work? At what?” The Earl almost sounded as if he thought it a good idea.

“Tilling, harvesting, coopering… building, smithing, fishing.”

“What are you talking about, Thomas?” At least, for the moment, there was more confusion than malice in his father’s voice. He knew it wouldn’t last.

He hesitated; three beats on the clock passed before he said; “I intend to secure them pardons.” He earned the Earl’s full attention. The man stopped chewing. “A blanket amnesty for any man who will accept it in exchange for his allegiance, his renunciation of violence, and his labour.” All the cards were on the table. The Earl threw his fork in there as well, and fell back in his chair in exasperation with his son.

“What a piece of work you are.” 

Thomas braced his arms on the table, sat proud in his chair, and said defyingly; “You asked me to formulate a plan, that’s what I’ve done.” The Earl was not amused. He leaned over the table as if he wanted to threaten, and looked his son deeply in the eyes as he spoke as he would to a candid child.

“I asked you to formulate a plan that would secure the support of the Navy in our efforts. Support without which there is little chance of reversing the catastrophic downward trend in revenue from the Bahama territories. Support that is almost certain to disappear entirely and for good the moment they hear they are to be associated with a plan to reward men who are in open revolt against the Crown!” Thomas could barely hold back his exasperation.

“This is the solution the most likely to lead to our desired result. It also has the virtue of being the right thing to do.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” The Earl looked appalled at the words. “Lieutenant, am I right to assume that a proposal such as this –”

“Don’t look at him, talk to me!” Thomas said firmly. He was _tired_ of being treated like a child by a father who had never seen him growing up, and he would not put James in a position to have to choose sides now, not when he looked so undecided, so uncomfortable in the company, and looking to Thomas desperately for help. This did not seem to help Thomas’ case against his father, however. The man only looked at James calmly, but with evident, underlying anger.

“My son is impertinent, lieutenant, my son is indulged, my son is self-righteous, but he’s not stupid. Perhaps you could explain to me how you intend to distract the Queen from her war to issue these pardons?” The last part was directed at Thomas, as the Earl wrung his hands in vexation over the table.

“I wouldn’t need her to do anything, a simple Act would accomplish the same thing,” Thomas huffed.

“Of Parliament? There aren’t four votes among the Lords for something as absurd as this.” The Earl was clearly rethinking his former words concerning his son’s intelligence. It mattered little, the aforementioned son had started his war, and once he was underway he would see it to whatever end may come.

“Sutton, Dunster, Lewis, Form, Philpott – there’s five, they’re easy, and I haven’t opened my mouth to make an argument yet,” he said confidently, dismissively.

“An argument to abet sedition in time of war?”

“A war, sir, to ensure that a protestant sits on the throne instead –”

“Thomas! If I were a rival of this family, I would be shouting from the rooftops that any man who proposes to pardon a traitor in times such as these is, himself, a traitor.”

“We are fighting a war in the service of the Son of God, and it is treason to offer forgiveness to any man who would seek it?! What in the hell is it you think we’re doing here?!” Thomas spat across the table at his father.

“This isn’t your goddamn salon, Thomas!” the Earl replied in the same way. “And I don’t care to be lectured to!” The Earl reverted to outright shouting, but his son was hellbent on outdoing him, and shouted back with as much, if not more feeling.

“If you do not forgive men their sins, your father will not forgive your sins!”

“I don’t want to hear it!” The Earl yelled at last, and Thomas took breath.

“I know you don’t.” Thomas’ voice was calm, but it was laced with the most venomous poison. Silence stretched across the room until all they could hear was the ticking of the damned clock. Miranda looked warningly at her husband, but he looked only at his father, until he talked, at last.

“Lieutenant, I’ll ask you once again; am I to assume by your silence that you are in agreement with this proposal?” Miranda came to James’ rescue this time.

“The Lieutenant has dutifully expressed his reservations –” she looked to James for a reaction, but got no further.

“Madame, you have done enough to damage the good name of this family. I would ask that you keep both your mouth, and your legs, firmly shut going forward.” The expression on Miranda’s face was enough to break a heart. Suddenly Thomas boiled with anger, he wanted to throw his –

“I support it.” After a second’s hesitation, James stood up. “I find his argument persuasive, I find his intents to be good and true –” he looked at Thomas with the fire of his soul shining through his eyes, then turned to unleash it against the Earl, “- and I find yours wanting, sir.” He spat the word like the worst insult a man can possibly utter, and continued; “I will be relaying my findings to Admiral Hennessey in short order. And now I think it’s time you left, sir.” He could barely speak for the tightness of his jaw, and his voice was more the growl of a beast than the tongue of man.

The Earl didn’t take his eyes from his son as he stood up, threw his napkin on the table and left, with a muttered, “gentlemen,” entirely ignoring Miranda. Thomas couldn’t be more shocked if someone told him that ships could fly. He could not wrap his head around what had just now happened, before his very eyes. Thunder crashed outside.

“Did you just ask my father –” he started, thinking the very idea ridiculous – impossible, so much so that he almost chuckled, and had to blink tears out of his eyes that he knew not where came from – “to leave his own house?” Was this feeling in his chest – could it possibly be immeasurable joy, after such a battle? He looked up at James and he smiled, blinking several times as if he couldn’t believe that James had just, literally, stood up for him in support of a plan he found nothing but reckless. James only looked down tiredly, already thinking of the consequences of his actions. Thomas’ mind caught up with him as well.

He closed his eyes, still chuckling in disbelief, and wiped the wig from his head, scratching the back of it where it had been itching constantly. He took a deep breath to regain his bearings. “Right now, he will be dispatching messages to the Sea Lords, the Southern Secretary, his friends in the Privy Council. He will stop at nothing to ensure that this plan never sees the light of day,” he looked at James for any reaction, any at all, but found nothing, “and now you’re in the line of fire.”

“People can say what they like about you,” James groused in a thick voice that sounded pained to Thomas’ ears, “but you’re a good man. More people should say that, and someone should be willing to defend it.” _I_ am willing to defend it, he seemed to say, and he was raw with emotion. It was too much. Too much, with the memory of their trip in the back of his mind, the lingering goodbye the day before, James’ hand warm in his as he held it for much longer than he should have. Thomas cracked, and gave in at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, I was so busy today I almost forgot you guys! That would've been terribly mean of me, considering the anticipation from the last chapter!
> 
> Anyway, here it is and I hope you enjoyed! As I've been very mean and left The Kiss out of this chapter, I'll see if I can update earlier than usually for the next one :)
> 
> Thank you so much for your support, it has helped me so much in way of motivation for writing this fic that has turned out a lot longer than I ever meant for it to be!


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three

He rose from his chair slowly, cautiously, as if not to spook a frozen animal, and approached James with calculated steps. The small distance seemed to last a lifetime. Every touch, every smile, and every heated discussion they’d had played through Thomas’ mind. Could there possibly be any doubt about James’ intensions now? The steady rain faded from his ears; only his own heavy heartbeat resounded in his chest and filled his ears at the realisation; James cared for him.

James, as the very first person, had stood up against his father despite the considerable risks to his person and position.

Then he was in James’ space and the man turned, putting them front to front. Thomas laid a heavy hand on James’ shoulder, shaking him just a bit. _Thank you_. A careful approach.

James swallowed visibly, the corner of his mouth trembled in a valiant attempt at a smile, and he nodded. _Always_.

Always. James, he – the look he gave him now, vulnerable, pleading but not knowing for what, seeking understanding in Thomas’ eyes. Thomas’ other hand came to James’ other shoulder, steadying, reassuring. He held tight, pressed into his muscle, telling him _I am here, if you care to let yourself see it_. He searched James’ face for any discomfort. There was a lot, but Thomas would not let himself be discouraged. James did not pull back.

When Thomas stepped forward again, he could feel James’s coat brushing against his own. James drew back instinctively, frowning. Thomas only looked at him, waiting for acceptance and showing as much tenderness as he was able. The crease between James’ brows smoothed on an exhale, and though he still looked confused, scared – afloat in an unfamiliar sea – it was enough. Thomas leaned the rest of the way and kissed James McGraw on the mouth without reserve, without shame or hesitation. He was warm – he was incredibly warm and soft and afraid, but he did not pull away from the gentle press of lips upon lips.

Thomas drew breath for the shortest of moments, then leaned forward again, moving his hand to James’ strong jaw. He trembled as he kissed with every ounce of emotion in him until his head swam and his shoulders drew up under his ears. James’ hands pressed tentatively into his back. Thomas could only press closer, open his lips wider, brush them over James’ to simply feel the texture of him. Then they closed on his yet again, and he felt a need so sharp it was a pull in his stomach; to never stop kissing him, to never let him go. His hands tightened on James’ face and he pressed their lips desperately together. 

He pulled away only when his eyes grew hot with moisture, and only far enough to put their foreheads together. His eyes were still closed, he was holding James like a treasure between his hands, and they were breathing the same air – he could hear James’ quick breaths, see the rise and fall of his chest. When he finally looked, James’ eye were wide open.

Thomas pulled away, startled, but James chased him, and his eyes closed as he claimed Thomas’ lips of his own volition desperately, hungrily, again and again.

Then James pulled away with a shudder and clenched his jaw.

“We need to gather them, my lord,” he swallowed, throat hoarse. He was still holding Thomas; his hands had curled into fists, clutching the material of his justaucorps. “All those who come to your salons with some regularity. We need allies.” Thomas chuckled at James’ concern, but acknowledged his reason.

He couldn’t help himself, so he pressed for another kiss and James granted it, relaxed completely into it, then pulled himself away with difficulty.

James turned around and Thomas followed his example. They looked for the first time at Miranda. She was watching her own lap, and it was difficult to read her emotions, but Thomas had had much training. Beneath the shaky smile he discerned dread, sorrow that stemmed from – loss, heartbreak. Envy. 

Oh, Miranda.

“Write for them, everyone. Ask them to come – tonight, ten o’clock, perhaps? Both of you. We have no time to lose; the moment they hear of this from your father, they are lost to us.” Miranda sprung from her seat, nodding frantically and sniffing, taking Thomas’ arm with trembling hands.

“And you? What will you do?”

“I’ll find runners on the street – do you have coin?” Thomas found him a pouch, then pulled his wife to the study and they set themselves to write out short pleas to everyone that might want to and be able to help them. If they were lucky, maybe half would show up. If they were very lucky, half of those would consider staying after they had laid the situation out for them. How many of those would stay only out of curiosity? Thomas pulled himself from such thoughts and continued writing frantically and to hell with the script so long as it was legible.

Miranda rung the bell for a servant, who went from the study to the front door, giving letters to urchins and telling them the address, as quickly as the lord and lady could write them.

When they were finished, the servant fetched James from the street, but if they thought he would settle down and wait patiently, they were wrong. James took command of the household, bringing whatever servants were easy at hand and ordered them to rearrange the room. He, of course, helped with the carrying of additional chairs and sofas, because it was simply not done _quickly_ enough for his liking – the tyrant. He arranged them, and rearranged them to find the most practical distribution, then sent all the servant out with a growl and prowled the length of the room like a ship’s captain on his quarterdeck; serious, majestic, powerful.

“James, will you not sit down?” Thomas pled from the settee he occupied with Miranda.

“I told you once that I am here to see that you know what you’re getting in to, saving Nassau. I told Miranda some days later, that you’re entering a very dangerous game; politics. I wasn’t overestimating. I don’t know much of politics, my lord, but I haven’t been idle these past months. I know about your father, I know the extent of his power and sway over others. Hennessey warned me against him, and would warn me again, now, to get out of this without hesitation. Hennessey is – wary of your father. I’m not stupid enough not to be so too, but I have made up my mind. You have my full support.”

James waited not for an answer before he went to the windows and rearranged his hair with his back to them, then he stood there, brooding. Thomas hardly knew what to think and he had no time to figure it out; their guests started arriving.

Idle, curious chatter filled the room, but Thomas pulled away from the crowd together with James and Miranda and explained to no one what they were here for.

A quarter past ten everyone that would come must’ve come. Nathaniel was not one of them, and it was very disconcerting and disheartening; he always had much sway here – the people looked to him for his reaction whenever they thought Thomas had gone too far and the opinion of the room would depend upon his. He needed that man’s support today, but he was not here to offer it.

Thomas moved to the front of the crowd, flanked by James on one side and Miranda on the other. Silence fell over the room like a heavy blanket of anticipation and uncertainty as the guests found their seats. Some still had to stand at the back, leaning against pillars and the wall with their arms crossed expectantly.

For the fourth time that day he told everything of his plan. He argued for it every way he could think of, but he still heard gasps of surprise and outraged muttering between them. He ended his speech thus:

“Absolution. A clean slate for all those willing to accept it. A few hours ago, I informed my father that this was my intended solution for the pirate issue on New Providence island. We’ve talked in this room, you and I – about reason. We’ve talked about justice. We’ve talked about virtue, and the right. We’ve talked and _talked_. And now perhaps it is time to do that we’ve only spoken about behind closed doors. I am committed to this end, but it is a long road and I will need your help to see it through.” _Let their conscience steer their minds today_ , he prayed, as the people talked among themselves. _Let them not become heretics; give them strength to do what is right although it is difficult._

Someone in the room coughed, then a man – a distant cousin of the Queen – stood up and straightened his clothes. Hope flared in Thomas’ chest for a moment, then the man offered his hand to his wife who stood up also – though reluctantly, it seemed – and they left the room. Oh, if only women were allowed to have their opinion!

Then others rose, and mere moments later they were all gone without a word – without giving him time to defend himself; they didn’t even have the decency to try and argue against him. So that was what his salons came down to; they were all heretics, there only because they thought themselves quite radical and naughty – like children doing something bad only because their mother told them not to. In the end, it was just words.

In the end, he had achieved nothing.

Peter rose as the last, and looked after the others grimly, but without surprise.

“How can I help?” he asked, and it brought a wonderful smile to Miranda’s face. Thomas could not express his relief that at least this one, at least Peter, was not so shallow. Thomas turned to James, who looked at him with awkwardness written in every feature, so like himself Thomas was almost startled. He nearly forgot himself in James’ eyes.

“I don’t believe you’ve been properly introduced. Lieutenant McGraw,” Thomas put a reassuring had on James’ lower back, “my good friend, Lord Peter Ashe.” Peter nodded, smiling oh so wonderfully at them. He was one of the bravest men Thomas had ever know, he’d always been. Even new to Parliament he had expressed rather curious opinions, opinions which Thomas had loved from the very start although he didn’t agree with everything. The very first day he’d heard him speak, he’d gone to him after and counter-argued him. It turned into a battle of wits that hadn’t yet seen the end. From then, Thomas had had the highest respect for the man, and he had never disappointed.

Thomas suspected that some of Peter’s actions stemmed from a love for the fight, to prove that he could outwit anyone no matter what he might argued for. It was the challenge that tempted him, but Thomas knew that he was a good man, and that he truly wished to change the world for the better.

“Lieutenant, I have heard of you. Do you know what they call you? I believe it was Nathaniel – Philpott, I mean – who started it. They call you the Hamilton Devil. It’s the hair I suppose, but you’re one of them now. Too late to turn back, I’m afraid.” Peter winked, but James seemed uncomfortable. However, he regained his composure quickly, and Thomas felt as if he put on a mask he hadn’t worn in front of him for weeks. He was Lieutenant McGraw indeed.

“It’s been too late for a while; they have a way of stealing your mind without informing you of it.”

“Well, you don’t have to tell _me_ about _that_ , I was one of their first victims!”

“As for devil; I have a feeling they will need one before the end.” Peter looked at him appreciatively, and nodded his approval toward Thomas.

“I thought,” said Thomas, “to push for an Act of Parliament to secure the pardons, rather than to go through the Queen.” Peter started visibly.

“Are you mad?” he cried.

“Oh, completely,” was Thomas’ nonchalant answer, but he flinched. Then Peter smiled.

“I love it. How should we –”

“But,” Thomas interrupted, “I think it is too late in the evening to start, don’t you agree? Shall we meet, let’s say, two days from now? It will give us time to reflect on strategies and possibilities, and I have some things that need to be attended to. Have you heard from Nathaniel at all?”

“Not a word; it worries me,” Peter admitted.

“Yes. I intend to go see him; I had hoped he would be here today.” Peter bid his goodbye with a promise to be there on the time they agreed on, and James slipped out with him before Thomas had the chance to hold him back.

Then Miranda left too, and Thomas was alone in the empty room, staring at the empty chairs and feeling overwhelmed. He had thought they might soon be finished, but they were only just beginning.

*

He found Miranda in his own bed, tucked under the sheets but not asleep. She stared wide-eyed into the room in a way he didn’t quite care for, although he couldn’t discern why.

He didn’t speak as he joined her, and she didn’t either although she was clearly anxious to say something. He let her take her time and crawl onto his chest and settle her breathing.

“I didn’t expect it to be so hard,” she whispered at last, “to see you with someone else, treating them with such tenderness. Is it like this for you, whenever I am with someone else?”

He closed his eyes and drew her closer, brushing the hair away from her neck and caressing her there, almost as if in apology. “It was, in the beginning. It was very difficult. To know that I couldn’t pleasure you, that you had intimacy with others in a way you didn’t with me – yes, it was painful.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I hadn’t the heart to,” he whispered. “It would’ve been unfair.”

“But I never loved them. You and James…” The words seemed trapped in her throat, but she swallowed bravely. “You love him, and I see now that he cares for you, very much. I’m afraid that I might lose you both.” A single tear dropped upon Thomas chest. It was perhaps the fourth time he had known Miranda to cry since marrying her.

“Oh, my darling, darling wife – you who are so intelligent, how could you ever think something so silly? Do you not know that I treasure you over anyone? What I feel for James is different, I admit, but I could not ever imagine my life without you. You are my strength – it is because of you that I can keep going. I wouldn’t be me without you, and I cannot rightly express my gratefulness.” It didn’t seem to help, Miranda was shaking as she drew breath on top of him and refused to meet his eye.

“But don’t you see?” she exclaimed desperately. “I will do anything for you to have James in this manner, even if it means to leave the country entirely, even if you said you didn’t wish it! You deserve this love, Thomas, and I do not want to be in the way of it.” Thomas was seized with a terrible panic at the thought of losing her, of having wronged her yet again. He had been a terrible husband in so many ways, and yet he knew that he was the most lenient person she could find; he let her do anything she wished – encouraged her, even. He hoped it had been enough.

“I would not survive the loss. It would be like separating part of my soul forever, and I would remain only half a man.” Saying it, he realised that it was true, and his voice must’ve convinced her too.

“What are we to do, then?” she breathed.

“I haven’t the faintest, I know only that your loss would be the end of me, so you never consider that again, Lady Hamilton. Dear God, Miranda, you’re my _wife_ , never consider such actions again, please! And I don’t even know what will come of – James. It is all so uncertain, and we must figure this out along the way. Did you see the way he left without a single glance at me? I think he regrets. I might have ruined it entirely. I should never have kissed him – it was too much, too quickly. He’s probably in his bed now, deciding how to refuse me gently.” _Dear God, I hope it will be gentle_.

“He will not. I can see it in him, Thomas. He might not love you yet, but he feels something almost as strong. But I’m afraid. You realise, surely, that with this affair, you give your father the means to destroy any attempt at securing those pardons.”

“He will never find out, and he couldn’t stand the embarrassment that would come with telling the world of it.”

“I will pray every night that you are right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :')
> 
> It has started. It's about to go down. Hold onto your seats because we're in for a ride.
> 
> We are nearing the end, my friends, and I am writing like a maniac because it has just taken me by storm. War is coming and it's going to be painful, but also wonderful, I promise, but Gosh, can't Thomas just get a break - please?
> 
> I'm very excited to hear what you think about what I do with this story from now on out, and dear god I hope it will be worth all those painful months building up to this. I promise to do my very best!
> 
> And as this will be the last update of 2017 - Happy New Year to all of you!


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four

“My lord, the Lieutenant is here.” Shock kept Thomas in his chair, creased his usually smooth brow, stalled his breath in his chest. With disbelieving eyes, he saw James stalk inside the room only to come to a stuttering halt when his eyes landed on Thomas for a second, before darting away as if burned.

“James, I didn’t expect you so soon, forgive me –” Losing his thread – because what did he have to ask forgiveness for? For feeling so suddenly as if his world had been tipped on its axis, perhaps.

“I hope that I’m not interrupting anything.” James looked tired about the eyes, red and sore-looking were they, too, but he held himself stiffly and formally. It did not bode well for this conversation. Thomas thought perhaps he could ease some of his tension, but simply looking at James made him feel as if all control had fled from him. However, he did manage to be polite.

“Not at all, James. Come in.” His feet held him, so he approached James warily and reached for him. James allowed only a small touch before twisting away.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “Thomas, this – this is complete madness. We can’t do this-!” Had someone poured ice water down the back of his clothes, Thomas couldn’t have felt colder. He knew this would come, and yet –

“James, listen to me,” he said carefully, treading slowly closer.

“No, no – please, do not say another word!” The desperation in James’ voice, and that only, silenced Thomas. “I beg of you, do not say a word on the matter, not while I am talking, and not when I have finished. Let me speak, and let it be. If you truly care for me, grant me this; do not make it more difficult than it must be. I won’t insult our intelligence in pretending that I don’t – _feel_ for you.” James’ voice hitched, and Thomas had the presence of mind to understand that this was as hard – if not more so – for James than it was for himself. “We can’t, we simply _can’t_ have this, now more than ever. Already my mind is muddled. Hennessey warned me against this – against losing my reason in this matter; we can’t afford it. I hope that we might continue as partners in our efforts, but that must be all. Thomas, there can be no further – advancements.”

Thomas’ knees had gone weak, he was swaying against his desk and reaching behind himself for support that would in no way help in the matter of his bleeding heart.

“James,” he croaked.

“Did you not hear what I said? The risk is not on your part, my lord; they might send you from the country, but _me_ – you heard what happened to William, and if it’s not the fist for me, or the sword, then it’s the noose. I am already taking enough risks going against your father, and if it goes poorly –. I cannot afford to lose. If you respect my wishes, I will be here tomorrow and we will work together and that will be all. Do not ask me to go against the laws of men and God. What you were suggesting – the _debauchery_ you intended to initiate –” James’ breaths came in short gasps and his fingers were now pressing hard against his palms the way he curled his hands by his siders. James looked distraught. “Do not say another word on the matter, I can’t take it.” James fled the room before Thomas had the opportunity to say anything, had he been capable.

He hadn’t moved when Miranda entered the room cautiously seconds later.

“What did he say?” she whispered as if approaching a wounded animal. That was how he felt.

“That he wishes to continue our efforts, so long as that is all. He asked me never to speak of the subject again.” Miranda, to his utter incredulity, looked relieved. Was she so wicked that she was glad of his pain, so long as it meant that she could keep him to herself – even after he had been so gracious with her all these years? Anger surged in him like a furnace and he was about to voice it when Miranda spoke up.

“Because he knows that at the first word you speak, his resolve will crumble! You idiot man – run after him! Get him, Thomas, before it’s too late!” In his confused state, Thomas followed her order without thought and darted from the room, through the corridors, outside into the whipping rain. For one panicked moment he couldn’t find James there, but then their eyes met as he climbed into a carriage some ways away. Thomas reached for him, but James’ face was set in stone and he told the driver his address and was off without another glance Thomas’ way. It was over in the matter of seconds.

When the carriage was out of sight, Thomas slumped against the wall and slid to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

“I haven’t only lost the only possibility for romantic love in my life, I have also lost a dear friend,” he muttered when Miranda reached him.

“Don’t give up now, Thomas, it isn’t like you.” But what else could he do? James had begged him to keep his thoughts to himself; it was not something he could ignore.

*

Later that very day, Thomas gathered the last of his strength to affect an air of – if not happiness, at least mild annoyance. It was a far stretch from the grief of heartbreak he was experiencing. How could the poets make it sound so sweet?

To his surprise, it was not a servant who opened the door, but the youngest of Nathaniel’s three sons. He looked grim and mean; he had always had that look about him – the exact image of his father, but lacking the warmth in his eyes, the playfulness of manner.

“My father is indisposed,” he growled, as if Thomas was some enemy to chase away.

“I only wish a moment with him, then I will be gone.” The son refused again, sternly. Thomas heard shouting from the house and the boy twitched. “Why are you here? I thought the lot of you were in school.” Instincts told him that something was terribly wrong. “Where is your father?” he asked again, firmer. The boy stood straighter, tried to seem tall and threatening, but Thomas still looked down into his eyes. He couldn’t be more than thirteen.

“My father is indisposed. I must ask you to leave, sir.”

“Paul!” someone roared – Nathaniel? “Who is it? Tell me, damn you!” Thomas had never heard him so harsh in the voice. The boy flinched again, as if struck.

“Nathaniel?”

“It’s Hamilton, isn’t it? Let him in, boy!” Paul made to slam the door closed, but Thomas was stronger than him. He put his weight to the door and strode inside determinedly. The entire house smelled of stale alcohol and smoke. Nathaniel stumbled to meet him, and Thomas could hardly recognise him. The man was in a pair of torn shirtsleeves, not stockinged. His hair was in disarray and he reeked of various odours Thomas did not care to think about.

“What on earth are you doing, Nathaniel?” The man hiccupped and swayed, then burst out in tears and pulled Thomas forcibly to him in a crushing embrace. He moaned and cried and wailed and Thomas could only hold on. He felt sorely tempted to join him in his embarrassing display, and felt himself start to shake as Nathaniel held him so tightly, so desperately. He could hardly breathe for the onslaught of emotion.

“She’s dying, Thoma-s. She’s on her deathbed. Has only weeks left, at most. My darling wife.” Nathaniel resumed his broken weeping and clutched Thomas as if he was the only thing that kept him afloat in a sea of darkness.  
“ _No_.” No, it was not right! More death. It seemed to be at every turn, taking only those who didn’t deserve it and long before their time. Lady Philpott was the gentlest woman he had ever known, the kindest. “Nathaniel, I am so terribly sorry. I can think only how unjust it is. My dear man, be strong. You must be strong, Nathaniel. She needs you. _They_ need you,” Thomas whispered in his ear as he saw the second son enter the room.

“Why are you here?” Nathaniel hiccupped, but didn’t release him.

“It doesn’t matter, you aren’t –”

“Thomas.” Even like this, Nathaniel could be stern. It was remarkable. Thomas pressed his eyes closed and put his cheek to Nathaniel’s curls intimately. His eyes were hot with unshed tears.

“My father has abandoned me. I want to pardon the pirates; I will push for an Act, but I need support. Peter has already committed himself.”

Nathaniel sniffed, and replied with as much dignity as he could muster; “You have my vote. You know it, Thomas. You always have my vote. But I… I can’t do more, not now. Maybe not ever,” he whispered, and Thomas’ clutched him tighter, guided his head to the crook of his own shoulder to rest there, a comforting hand in his hair.

“I would not expect it. You are mourning, we must mourn; it is necessary. But be strong, Nathaniel, they need you now more than ever and you must be strong for them.” He left that place of death and despair grimmer than when he arrived – though he hadn’t thought it possible – and with a promise to the worried sons not to speak a word of their father’s degradation.

Thomas returned home without energy to do anything but sit quietly in his library, on the floor in front of the fire with an open book before him containing words he couldn’t understand, words he had, since the first time he had read them, always relied upon to guide him. Today, Marcus Aurelius could not reach him; he had closed himself to him.

“Thomas, will you not do anything?”

“I am,” he said; “I’m mourning.”

“No, you’re being silly.”

“Miranda!”

“You are simply refusing to deal with a problem that –”

“The love of my life has rejected me, my father is waging war against me, everyone I thought were of a mind with me have abandoned me, one of my best friends is losing himself to drink because his wife is dying and society in its entirety thinks me an invert and a madman for my beliefs and my inclinations! What, exactly, is it you want me to _deal_ with?!” He shouted at her the same way he’d shouted at his father. It shamed him. And now he had this, too – he was a terrible husband. She left the room.

Angry with himself, he went to his study and forced himself to focus on the work, to have something – anything to propose tomorrow. Any plan of action, names of possible allies, ideas of what his father might do and how to counter him or get there before him. He invested himself in the work and put aside him emotions. James was right; they could not let themselves be distracted.

*

“What you did wrong,” Peter said, “was to propose it like there would be no repercussions against the pirates. No one will stand for that; it would be like rewarding a thief who stole your favourite painting from your own chamber.” They’d moved to the drawing room as the study wasn’t comfortable enough for three people. A table had been set out for them and Thomas had brought paper and writing instruments along with his original sketches concerning the pirate issue. “If you want to win them over, you must present it differently; the pirates can have their pardons, like you said – renunciation of violence and all that – but they must also pay for their sins by working for you for some time until they can buy their freedom or something to that effect.”

“I will not enslave anyone!” Thomas said, aghast, just as James said; “the pirates would laugh in your face and shoot you at the proposal.”

“No matter; we need only to convince the right people. If not this, then there needs to be at least some atonement for them – something that we might just skip entirely when arriving at Nassau, and England would never know!” Thomas didn’t like the sound of it one bit, it was too precarious, left too many uncertainties, but James nodded as if seriously considering the idea.

“So – we’re simply going to lie, to everyone?”

“You’re in politics,” James muttered. “Isn’t that what you do? Lie to get the votes and do whatever you please when you have them? Think of it like this, my lord; you will never have their votes if you don’t, so you can’t act for the good. Some other fuck – excuse me – will decided to do something else with the pirates – your dear father, I suppose – and they will die, every last one of them, from a proposal _we_ have made, lacking only the forgiveness that’s so important to yo - _us_.” Thomas grumbled, but of course they had the right of it; they hadn’t much choice, did they? “You remember what I said, my lord; man on island, power over other men, limitless power. We could do what we pleased without England knowing of it, so long as we bring the right men and monitor what goes on the ships that return to England.”

“I will not abuse my power –”

“Not even for the greater good?” They were morally grey, both James and Peter, but perhaps that was exactly what would give Thomas the opportunity to do something good. Perhaps, in every great act, lay a history of violence and deceit. But what if that was at the base of every great tyrant; a visionary with the intent to do good, but influenced by corruption from the acts that were required to do it until they had forgotten where they started and lost themselves along the way.

“We will reformulate the proposal, then, but I cannot stress enough how important it is to me to not enslave the pirates; to free them of their debt and encourage them to work for an honest salary and live their lives like any others and of their own free will.” Peter nodded, satisfied.

“Do you have your original speech written down? It was good, but it needs changes. McGraw, will you help me write another with this as a guide? Thomas, you could go over my list of possible allies, compare them to yours, and note who you think your father might want to get to first, the crucial ones – so on and so forth.” Thomas nodded, and they set to work.

Thomas willed himself to focus on the task at hand, rather than the sight of James on the other table, looking morose as he and Peter whispered together and changed his words to something more acceptable, less truthful. He looked good, if a little worse for wear. Thomas suspected he hadn’t gotten much sleep, not unlike himself.

When James had seen him that morning, he had drawn back in surprise and something akin to horror. Thomas knew that his eyes were red and puffed and that he had barely any colour in his cheeks. He’d drunk too much last night, when he couldn’t work any longer, and started weeping in the early hours of the morning. Not for James, specifically, but everything. Every last bloody thing that was wrong with the world, every injustice, to himself or others. But James didn’t know that, he must think Thomas was so wrecked only because of him, and Thomas hoped that it hurt him, though it was childish to do so. James did the only thing he could. Thomas would do the only thing he could.

“How should we approach them?” Peter asked.

“One at a time, don’t you think? Corner them and press them to see if they can argue against the proposal. They will see the reasonableness of the plan when they can’t.” Peter hummed, considering.

“But we can’t seem to threaten them; we must distance ourselves from your father and use him as a bad example, tell them how he gains allies by grabbing them by the balls and threatening to twist. Surely they wouldn’t want that.”

“And his own wretchedness comes to bite him in the arse.” Peter smirked, nodding.

“McGraw, we probably wouldn’t need you for that; you don’t know these men. And we already take too much of your time, you have other duties, do you not?”

“Yes, but I have been assigned to Lord Hamilton; as long as the Admiralty doesn’t drag me out of it, he can ask for me whenever he wants. But, I suppose you’re right, although if you’re to speak with anyone in the Admiralty, I would suggest that I am there.”

“Of course.”

At the end of the day they had a full list of people to be approached and how to speak with them individually. It was tiresome work, but unavoidable. They couldn’t afford a single misstep or misjudge of character.

At last Thomas called for a servant to bring them wine, and James stood up to leave.

“Stay, at least a bit, Lieutenant,” Thomas begged, and James seemed cornered, so he sat down again reluctantly. “I visited Nathaniel yesterday,” Thomas said, looking at Peter. “There won’t be any help to get from him. His wife is dying, he is… out of sorts.” Peter cursed. “We have his vote though, and it carries some weight among the others. For some reason they have always respected him, even though he’s as much a visionary as I am.” Peter chuckled.

“It’s his looks. He’s pleasing to the eye.” James snorted involuntarily, and hid behind the rim of his wineglass. “He’s also older; I suppose that helps.”

“He’s calm,” James muttered. “It has little to with looks. He might be handsome, but so is Lord Hamilton. Except you’re… buoyant. Do you understand what I mean by that? Those old dogs don’t care to listen to you, you’re like an excited pup that wants them to join in the play and they just don’t have the energy to care because they’ve given up on the world. Philpott doesn’t push for them to join him, he just talks them round until they agree, so long as they don’t have to do anything personally. Together,” James said, and looked at Thomas at last, “I understand why you can make a very convincing case. He brings legitimacy to your ideas. Losing him as an active supporter will cost us dearly.” Peter looked offended. It was clear that he wanted to take Nathaniel’s part in this, but Thomas, like James, was unsure whether he could truly fill the role. He didn’t carry Nathaniel’s weight or influence.

“I’ll take that for the good advice it is; don’t ask them to do things when you can convince them that they want to do things instead.” Peter stayed for a while longer, but eventually got up and bid his goodbye. James was about to do the same, but Thomas stopped him before Peter was out of sight.

“McGraw, I’d like a few words with you, if you please.” With Peter there he couldn’t refuse outright, so he nodded begrudgingly, but kept his distance. Thomas waited until they heard the door close behind Peter.

“I told you, Thomas; I cannot stay if you press me, and you desperately need my support.” Thomas didn’t respond, he simply made for his study without waiting to see if James followed. He did.

“You asked me to respect your wished, James. That is what I’m doing.” He closed the door on James, and pressed his back to it to cut off his escape. “I can’t work with you, knowing that you deny both yourself and me something wonderful. You say it’s too dangerous; I don’t think that is the problem, I think that you’re ashamed of your desires.” James’ face turned to stone. Thomas had never seen that hard, angry expression aimed at himself before. He shuddered at it.

“It’s not –”

“Oh, it’s not desire, now? I felt your desperate lips, James! I felt the tremble in your fingers and the frantic beating of your heart! Stop this nonsense!” He advanced on James, who stood stoic in the middle of the room.

“We can’t –”

“Are you really so callous that you spend weeks in sweet flirtation with me, only to pull back the moment I start to believe that you might want me?” Thomas trembled with barely contained fury. “Would you truly wound me so deeply? You can’t possibly understand what I have endured because of my feelings for you!”

“Oh yes, it must have been so hard for you, my lord!” James spat.

‘’To want someone so ardently, and think that they will never care for you in the same way? To think that they find your desires and admiration disgusting! The way you _spoke_ of it, James, like it was the worst a man could do – after William’s death. I knew you would hate me if you ever knew, but then you looked at me in that way – the day in the library, with your dark eyes and open face. You flirted with me, and you have been for a while. Are you truly going to pull away after giving me a touch of what might have been? I can’t take it, James, it is too hard a blow!”

“Thomas, please,” James begged. In his eyes, he was lost. His lip trembled like that of a child and his shoulders lost their tension. “Don’t ask this of me.”

“Do not ask you to be brave? You’re a soldier, James,” Thomas whispered gently, moving closer.

“But this… It is wrong, Thomas, can’t you see? It’s disgusting!”

“Love, whatever form it might take, can’t ever be disgusting, James. It is the opposite that we should speak of in that way. Love is only natural. God wants his creations to love, not to hate.”

“But not men and men!” James keened, desperate.

“Why not? Why, James?” Thomas closed the distance between them and took James’ face between his hands, lifting his chin to meet his eyes. James refused to look at him, tried to twist away, but Thomas held fast. “Why is this feeling, this wonderful feeling, something to be ashamed of? Why should we stay away from the things that bring us happiness, if they don’t hurt others?” He brushed his lips over James’, felt his heavy exhale upon his own mouth. “Why should others care what we do? It doesn’t concern them. They can go hang for all I care. Their opinion doesn’t matter to me. Do not give them such power over your life, James. Your life is your own, no one else’s, and you must decide how to live it. Not based on their words, but your own wants and needs. Tell me that you don’t want this, and I will stop.” Thomas brushed their lips together again and closed his own around James’ plush bottom lip with a light pressure. He felt the tremble in it. 

Thomas drew away only to slot their mouths together more deeply, pouring all his feelings into James so that he might understand the strength of them. James didn’t push away, but neither did he return the kiss. Thomas heard his breathing quicken, then even more until it grew worrisome. When he pulled away he saw panic etched in James’ bearing.

“I took your wife to bed,” James admitted, and closed his eyes in shame. Thomas smiled gently urging him to look up.

“I know. She told me.”

“I asked her to –”

“What did you really expect of Miranda, of all people?” Thomas chuckled, caressed James’ cheek with a thumb.

“Then – how can you believe that I would want you?”

“I admit that I do not understand it, but I have proof that it is possible, so why would I shy from it? It is all right that you want us both.” James turned away, forced himself out of Thomas’ grip, turned his back on him.

“How can you say that?” His voice was rough and broken, disbelieving. Thomas didn’t like the way he seemed to fold in on himself at the weight of his worries and his shame.

“Miranda has been enjoying illicit affairs for the entirety of our marriage, why should I start to care now? What difference does it make that it is you? It makes me glad to know that you can bring her happiness the same way you might with me – if it also brings _you_ happiness. To share something like this – it seems to me to be a wonder.” He turned James back to him with a gentle, but firm arm on his shoulder. “I do not think this is wrong, I think society is afraid of something they can’t understand. I think that God made us, like He made everyone else, and I do not think we are flawed to Him.” His hands returned to James’ face, for he seemed to enjoy it despite all the ways he felt troubled; it seemed to ground him to the moment and pull him from the depths of his mind which screamed profanities at him. “I think that we are just as we were supposed to be – I think you are perfect, James.” 

James slumped tiredly against Thomas, who held him tightly and stroked his hair until he settled. “And it would make me very happy if you would stay with me tonight. Not to – be together romantically, but I simply want to wake up with you beside me, and I want to be without fear of rejection. Please,” he whispered. James gave no sign that he had heard, so Thomas put his arms around him and held him closer, pressing the top of James’ head to his cheek and closed his eyes. Oh, to have James in his arms, even when he was so hesitant, it was soothing in ways Thomas hadn’t thought possible. There was no uncertainty any more; at last he knew what James thought of him, and he didn’t have to hope or worry any longer, not like he had. The relief was incredible and pulled delighted laughter from him that surprised James in his arms.

“I’m so happy, James,” he said, then. “To have met you, to have you here, now.” James managed a brave smile as he looked up, and Thomas couldn’t resist his lips. They were so soft, and firm, and now responsive on his own. Sliding them together, James drank the sounds of Thomas’ laughter. “Will you be with me tonight? I will sleep in my clothes if you so wish.” James’ answer was long in coming, but then there was a small nod that Thomas felt more than he saw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :')
> 
> I'm going to make up for all the pain now, just you wait!
> 
> What did you think of James' initial rejection, and then Thomas persuading him later - did it sound right and probable to you?
> 
> I hope the beginning of 2018 has been kind to you! Thank you so much for staying with me through all this, your support has kept me going and made the end of 2017 wonderful! <3


	26. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have upped the rating to Explicit... starting now :')

Out of some misguided attempt at modesty, Thomas turned around before starting to undress, to keep some sort of imagined decency between them. It was entirely unnecessary of course; James had already seen him bare, and he James. It was to James’ benefit, what with his struggles, which was why he was so surprised and delighted when James would not have it. With a gentle hand on his shoulder, James coaxed him around and slid the justaucorps from his shoulders. Thomas brushed the wig off his head and James’ eyes twinkled up at him.

“You really are much more handsome that way, my lord.” His voice was a shy, uncertain whisper, but his eyes were hinting at playfulness. Thomas allowed himself to kiss away James’ trepidation although he felt much of it himself.

With stubborn fingers, James unbuttoned Thomas’ waistcoat. His face was set in defiance and he worked with grim determination, but slowly, thoroughly. Thomas looked down at himself as he was disrobed, and James’ thick, callused fingers, dusted gently with light hair. He could hardly feel the gentle press, but the sight of James touching him so intimately was enough to leave him breathless.

At last the waistcoat joined the jacket, and after finding permission in Thomas’ eyes, James pulled carefully at his cravat, untying it with a level of gentleness Thomas had not expected from such a man. Thomas leaned his head backwards and exposed his throat, moaning just a bit when James caressed his naked skin reverently with calloused fingers. There was something intimate in exposing himself in such a way, and when James’ touch came gentle, when he knew it could have served a killing blow just as easily, satisfaction rumbled through him.

“Would you –” James stepped back slightly, looked at the rest of him. Thomas nodded and stepped out of his shoes, then pulled his shirt from his breeches and drew it slowly over his head. He let it fall to the floor with a flutter, and hesitated only a moment before he – very deliberately – slid his fingers over his stomach to unbutton his breeches. A moment later he bent down to take them off together with his stockings, and stood before James in only his underclothes. He felt completely naked and exposed with James still fully dressed in front of him, and was the dark look in his eyes any indication, James wished he was. His eyes were almost black.

“May I?” James nodded, and the same, agonizing process began again, but Thomas was less careful. He’d seen the hunger in James’ eyes and it made something carnal arise in him. He pushed close and claimed James’ lips as he slipped the buttons from their holes frantically. James’ hands went around him, scorching on his bare skin, and he pressed them so close Thomas could barely work. Without ceremony he pressed James’ arms back and took his jacket and waistcoat off in a go, then tugged at his cravat and that was off too. Then James pulled away and did the rest himself. Thomas watched him, breathless.

His fingers itched to touch and have James close to him again, but the man slipped around him and went beneath the covers quick as a cat. His cheeks were pink and his eyes wide in disbelief at himself that he was doing this. Thomas joined him there soon after.

“I’m terribly weak of will, it seems.” James wasn’t looking at him, but shuffled beneath the sheets and scooted closer some few inches.

“Not at all. Your determination is astonishing; without it you wouldn’t be here. As it is your will to be in my bed, I’d say you’re rather strong-willed, in this as in everything else.” James chuckled and ducked his head. “I’m very glad of it.” Thomas reached across the sheets and took James’ strong hand in his. He felt fragile. “I hope you won’t begrudge my persistence. I might’ve been a bit stubborn with you. I know that you have… personal issues with your feelings, although I don’t understand it. I want you to know how incredible I think you are that you’re here now despite that.”

“You were very mean, indeed,” James whispered, and it could’ve been accusatory but for the twinkle in his eyes. “You said that you thought I would never share your feelings, but how – how did you dare kiss me? I could’ve ruined you immediately.” The familiar crease appeared between James’ brows like it always did when he was considering something. At last, Thomas could bring a finger to caress the skin and smooth it away.

“The way you spoke to my father, your words when he had left, was enough to convince me – especially after our week-end in the country.”

“But – how? I wasn’t even convinced – _I_ hadn’t yet realised –”

“Because no one has ever defended me in that way before. Despite your own reservations on the matter, you spoke up against my father and committed yourself to me. I assumed you were blinded by your overwhelming feelings!” he said playfully, and James smiled.

“It might have gone wrong, it almost did.”

“I took that risk. For me. For you, too.” James’ toes brushed his under the sheets and stayed there, only slightly touching, the gesture intimate in its innocence.

“It’s so terrible,” James whispered with his eyes closed, “to want you.” Thomas sighed at the admission and let go of James’ hand to cradle his face instead, then kissed him on the lips slowly. He’d forgotten how it was to kiss men; hadn’t done it since Eton or around that time. It had only been Miranda. James was very different; he could feel his stubble scraping against his lips, he was harder and his lips were chapped, but he relinquished control completely whereas Miranda took it. This, the sweet slide of lips, so slow and uncertain, experimental, was something entirely different. Warmth spread through Thomas’ veins as if James was sharing with his lips that burning passion inside him, invited Thomas to take part in it and to feel him, how he truly was at his core.

“Is this really so terrible, James?” asked he, nibbling at James’ lip. James pressed closer in answer, prompting Thomas to kiss more deeply, hold more tightly, forget himself in his hunger for more.

And he did hunger for more. The novelty of feeling James’ shifting muscles under his own soft fingers as the man shuffled closer upon gentle prompting was heady. And despite the hardness beneath, his skin was strangely soft, here, on his side, where there were no callouses and no hair. Thomas let his hand slide to James’ stomach and urged him to lie on his back – pressing their mouths harder together until James had his head on the pillow. Thomas was propped up on his elbow beside him, peering down at James and looking at him – finally looking at him without guilt or hesitation. With every breath he let out, James’ stomach clenched and his muscles became visible as if he was made of hills and valleys that Thomas let his curious fingers run over and across until he caressed the rim of his bellybutton which made the lake, then sunk lower to play through the forest that was the hair leading down below his underclothes. Thomas let his hand settle there, over the lowest part of James’ abdomen, and leaned over to claim his lips.

James had the same, wavering look on him he had before the very first time their lips met, and now it made Thomas chuckle because he knew he could kiss it away and all would be well. The meeting of their lips seemed to make James bolder, for an arm rose to caress Thomas’ shoulder and ran down the bumps which made his spine with a touch that could barely be felt, but was more exciting than anything he had ever felt before, even more so when the calloused fingers caught on his skin, and didn’t stop until they reached the spot which marked the beginning of the swell of his behind and James splayed his hand over that spot, pressed down gently until Thomas was laying against James’ hip, careful to keep his arousal from pressing against James.

After long moments James pulled away with a sigh and shuffled backward. He pushed his face into his pillow and lay there, simply breathing, holding Thomas’ hand in his. James’ fingers were clenching tightly as if he was holding on to a lifesaver.

“Yes,” he muttered. “It is terrible. But it is also not.” Thomas lifted James’ chin and shuffled closer. Their hands were joined, the tips or their toes brushed against each other, and Thomas pressed their foreheads together. They were so close he could no longer see James, so he closed his eyes and fell asleep that way.

*

He didn’t at first know what woke him, but the sky was dark outside the windows and the moon was almost full, shining in on them with enough brightness to illuminate James’ features to him. The first sensation was that of agitation. It was hot beneath the sheets, uncomfortably so, and James was moving something awfully. The next thing he felt, was spellbound. As if magic was pulsing like a tension in the air around them. The moon was almost full, shining in on them like a personal favour, so strong he could see James’ beautiful features although there was a lack of colour to everything about them. His feet kicked the sheets away and the coldness of the room came over him like a breath of fresh air and made his hair stand on his arm as if the air itself was filled with energy.

James’ shuffling ended as the man grabbed the hem of Thomas’ smallclothes and pulled at him until they were flush together at the hips, all without noticeable effort. Thomas felt an awkward surge of arousal as James’ fingers accidentally brushed through the hair above his member when he pulled his hands free of his clothing. Then James’ mouth searched for Thomas’ almost blindly and he ended up with pressing his lips to his cheek at first, missing his mark. Hot breath ghosted over Thomas’ face and he shivered down to his toes. Then James pressed their lips together and drew Thomas’ laces open. He might’ve been embarrassed of his obvious arousal, hadn’t he been able to feel James’ own pressing against his stomach in that very moment. _Oh dear God_.

Thomas hardly knew what was happening, but James left him no time to think about it because in the next moment their hips were pressed together in a single thrust from James and Thomas was forced to grab James’ side to steady himself at the onslaught of feeling. For up against his own, needy flesh was James’ pressed fervently as the man rolled his hips and stuttered a sigh into Thomas’ mouth. The friction created by this action was hardly enough to satisfy him, but left him stuttering himself, desperate for more of that heady sensation.

Thomas forced his eyes open; they had closed without his notice, and took in the sight of James’ naked torso, young, fresh face, the curve of his mouth. Thomas pressed them together and dug his fingers harder into James’ hip, guided his movements until they grew harder, sharper, quicker.

Frantically, James forced Thomas’ fabric over the swell of his arse and reached unashamedly for his member in his half-sleeping state. When his hand closed around it, Thomas’ breath hitched in surprise and his eyes flew again to James’ face from where they had been staring, fascinated, at the joining of their bodies. Although James’ eyes were open now, they were heavy-lidded and he seemed not completely in control of his faculties, perhaps not even sure what he was doing, only knowing that it felt like the right thing to do.

Pushing away his trepidation, Thomas reached into James’ clothes to get his hand on him and return some of the pleasure he was receiving with such delighted confusion. James groaned into the skin of his neck, nibbled at it, made Thomas dizzy with it.

“Oh, James!” Thomas whispered then batted James’ hand away from his cock and aligned them, fitting their lengths together in his hand and worked them in unison. James panted hotly into his ear, his hips rutted lightly as if to press harder through his fist, then his hand found Thomas’ side and slid down to his buttocks. He grabbed it tightly and Thomas couldn’t stop the moan as he was pulled flush against James. When James’ finger slid between his arse cheeks, he whimpered outright, a sound he had never heard from his own lips before, and clenched – bringing them harder together just as his fist worked all the more frantically over their erections.

James shifted and rolled half on top of him, still, seemingly, half asleep and heavy. In the chill of the room, James’ warmth was perfect. The hand that wasn’t caressing Thomas’ backside, he pushed into his hair and when he kissed him, James’ grip became so hard Thomas couldn’t have moved away if he wanted.

Like this he had little leverage with his hand, but the way James rocked his hips, he got friction enough to turn mad with it. Then, out of nowhere, James plunged his tongue into Thomas’ mouth, and Thomas burst, spurting hot seed between their bodied, twitching and groaning into James’ mouth. Stars exploded behind his eyes, every nerve that had been strung tight were now released in beautiful song and pleasure rolled through his body like massive waves toying with a ship at sea.

He sagged into the sheets and clung to James as he trembled and whimpered through his own pleasure. James settled at last, but didn’t remove himself from Thomas’ chest, so Thomas held him, pushed a hand into his thick hair, and they fell asleep again, now with seed on their stomachs and underclothes around their thighs.

*

It was morning when Thomas woke next, and it was to the light caress of a cold cloth on his stomach. He hummed, but did not open his eyes. He reached out blindly and touched James’ side.

“I thought you might – well. I was sticky when I woke, and it was uncomfortable. I’m sorry that I roused you,” James grumbled. The stickiness was all the confirmation Thomas needed; he had dreamed nothing of what occurred in the dark hours of the night. He felt lightheaded.

“Thank you, James. You’re a gentleman.” James withdrew when he was done and said no more. Thomas squinted and saw him settle on the edge of the bed. Now that he had nothing to occupy himself with, James seemed to have too much time to think. Thomas imagined he could heard his mind working hard to process the actions he’d performed, and his breathing was heavy and calculated, as if he thought very hard about controlling it. Every muscle in his body looked uncomfortably tense.

After several minutes of mental preparation, Thomas made himself leave the comfort of the pillow, and joined James with his legs over the side – not close enough for their bodies to touch, but so close he could grab the hand that clutched James’ thigh and take it into his own.

“The thing I do not understand, is why you have such troubles. From what I’ve gathered, you were very – open as a boy. I’m referring to the story William told, of you dressing as a female prostitute to seduce men, or I suppose, letting your hair grow long when most other boys cut it short, and cooking with your mother instead of joining your father as a carpenter. It doesn’t alight with the pain I see in you now, and how difficult you find it to accept yourself.”

James pressed his eyes closed. When he spoke, his voice was rough. “You forget that many years have passed since then. What I did was mocking a father I disliked and it was exhilarating, not in the least to do something that was forbidden or dirty. When Admiral Hennessey took me under his wing, he became my mentor and told me all of life at sea whenever he could spare the time. I was very young in the beginning, and from the first moment I found in him a figure to be respected and admired, even imitated. When I was around fourteen he first warned me against other men’s advances after weeks at sea. The way he spoke –” James’ voice died in his throat and he covered his face in shame. “Even then I had an inkling. I berthed with the other men, and some would – would set me aflame even at the mere sight of them. He told me that it was shameful and wrong.” James’ breath hitched, and he struggled to draw breath. His chest heaved as if he was about to have a seizure.

James pulled his hand from Thomas’ grasp and clutched his own together tightly in his lap.

“We’re not designed to – it’s supposed to be men and women – it’s natural, it’s how we reproduce. What men do together – it’s perverse.”

“We’re different and a bit peculiar, so what? A wise man told me once that peculiar is not a synonym for bad.” The corner of James’ mouth twitched, but that was all.

“I think I will return to my lodgings. I know that it is too late to turn back, and I don’t want to, but I need some time –”

“Of course, James, of course. Thank you, for trusting me, and spending the night with me. I am very happy.” Minutes later, James slipped from the room and Thomas returned to bed, overwhelmed.

Ha had James. He had touched James, had slept beside him and woken up to the sight of him – two times, even. He had felt James’ hungry hands on him and he’d experienced a level of intimacy nothing before could compare with. He hadn’t known what he’d missed before he had it; his body was still alive and tingling at the feeling of his climax and James’ closeness. He could hardly process it.

Thomas found Miranda at the breakfast table and she peered curiously at him with tired eyes.

“Where’s James?”

“He left not long ago. I believe he… needed some time to think.” Miranda nodded silently. Thomas did not like it. Whenever Miranda was discontent he would either hear about it, or she would fix whatever was the problem if she had the means to – and even if she didn’t she would take some kind of measure. Her apathy was the clearest warning sign he could get. It was one of the more uncomfortable meals they had ever taken together, and Thomas wished she would just stop having him squirm so. When she gave no sign of speaking, he had to take matters into his own hands. He asked her to join him in the library and they were left alone.

“He has… issues with himself,” Thomas started. “I believe he thinks that being attracted to men takes away his masculinity, which is ludicrous as he happens to be one of the manliest men I know, despite the braid or whatever else one would consider typically feminine. I think I can convince him that it doesn’t have to be that way, although it might take some time.”

“I think I will be returning to the country house. Give the two of you some time to – be alone with each other, get comfortable with each other without having to worry about my presence making it strained.” Miranda didn’t look at him as she spoke, and was sat too far away to touch. Thomas didn’t like it at all. What was it worth, his relationship with James, if he ruined that with his wife?

“I… was rather hoping you would spend time with us, like usual. He still can’t speak Spanish and our evenings were very entertaining.” Miranda worried her bottom lip like she did when she was uncertain. He’d always found it very charming, but now he felt only guilt.

“That is what it will be, isn’t it? I will have to – watch you flirt, be present and happy for your entertainment, keep my mouth and my legs firmly shut.” Thomas was aghast that she would even consider that a possibility, and use his father’s words as if it was something _he_ wanted as well.

“No! God, Miranda, how can you think that? Why do you believe James went to bed with you?”

“I can’t fathom. And I don’t understand – what is he _doing_? With us? What on earth is going on in his mind?” Thomas couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I think he would very much like to know the answers to those questions himself. I have come to understand that he enjoys being with both women and men. I can’t say if it’s in equal measure, in truth we’ve hardly spoken a word of it. But, he didn’t let you take him to bed for sport, Miranda, he genuinely enjoyed it and you, I am certain of this.” Nudging her only a bit, Thomas moved Miranda’ head to his chest and she curled up against him. It had been long since he thought about the difference in age between them – ten years or so – but now Miranda looked like she had when he first came to know her; young, inexperienced, a bit frightened and uncertain of where they were heading.

“But what if I find it painful to watch you?” she muttered.

“There is no need for that, my darling wife. You’re as dear to me as you have ever been, if not even more so for your incredible patience with me which has only been more strained as of late. But I need you to understand that James will never be more important to me than you – how could he? I have told you already that there is no need for such worries. We will figure this out in a way that will satisfy all parties involved, and we cannot do that when one of those parties is away.”

“You’re always asking me to be strong.”

“Because I know that you can. And don’t moan about it, the way you whip me one should have thought I would have died off years ago.” It earned him a smack on the thigh and he rewarded her by pulling her even closer against himself. “We’re here for each other, and James can’t take your position in this, as in so many other things – he can never replace you. If I ever were forced to choose, it would always be you. But I want – I want us to be together, all three of us. In harmony. Will you try that with me? Without your help I will never be able to convince James that such a thing is possible.” She looked at him, rather incredulous, but nodded with fondness brimming over in her eyes. So like him, she would think, to suggest something so bizarre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrightey folks! As you might or might not have noticed, I have set an end for this fic - in ten chapters! Yes, indeed. Now, it is possible, though not likely, that there will be one more, but I don't think so. So there you have it, 36 parts! And this means, of course, that I am almost done writing (which is very good, because in a week I have to get back out in real life, which of course means less time for writing, sadly).
> 
> So, what I think is that from now on I'll try to update ever three days (note the 'try'), what do you say?
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, feedback is always appreciated! :) I hope you all have a good day, I woke up and was very happy so that was great and I wish that for all of you lovely readers as well! x


	27. Chapter Twenty-Six

“McGraw, what would you say are the most important military reasons for securing the Bahama Islands?” Thomas was putting on his armour; his fine clothing – for going into battle – and was just adjusting his cravat, then wig, as Peter got the last bits of information he needed from James where they were sitting on the other side of the drawing room.

“It is an important strategic area in the war against Spain. If that region is weakened, England is weakened; the Spanish might seize the island like they tried in ’03 and although it would be more a blow against our pride than anything, it could become a turning point and we would seem weak. Have you it?” Peter nodded, writing it down so he might remember. Thomas liked his script; it looked like a mouse with inky feet had danced all over the paper.

“Anything else?”

“Should be mentioned that killing able-bodied men in time of war is backwards. With them we can make the Bahamas a sort of stronghold while not having to sacrifice too many English soldiers needed elsewhere.”

“McGraw? Peter?” In unison, the two men looked up from their work at Thomas, who patted his cravat. James studied it like he wanted to find out if he could will it away. Thomas didn’t doubt that he could.

“It looks good, my lord.”

“Are we ready, then?” Peter nodded, and James followed on their heels into the street where they climbed into a carriage.

“Good luck. And my lord – don’t try to convince them that the pirates are innocent, or even wronged. Convince them that they’re useful – useful to England as a whole; not to you, not to your father.” James looked long and deep at him, and Thomas nodded his understanding. Then they were off, and he saw James turn in the street, heading to the docks, or perhaps his lodgings. Thomas didn’t know; he’d had no opportunity to speak privately with him.

“He seemed bothered,” Peter commented.

“Yes, but I do not think he will let it affect his working spirit. He has already lectured me about it.” Thomas twisted his ring and looked out the window. He could tell that Peter found him, too, quite bothered; he had hardly said a word that day, although there hadn’t been much need; Peter and James had discussed between them the last changes for the proposal that he and Peter were now on their way to offer some of the Lords they thought more open to the suggestion. He’d been staring out of the window and dressed slowly; having been only in his shirtsleeves when they arrived. They had only met for half an hour and Peter had been there the entire time.

“You don’t think him too bold – the way he speaks to you? He is only few steps away from giving you orders. Is that really his place?” Thomas had to chuckle. Peter, admittedly, found it more important to keep within his social class than Thomas did – but then, so did most people.

“You should have seen him in the beginning; you would have been very pleased. His manners were impeccable, his bearing always entirely composed. I pride myself on having relived him of the need to act so; it feels more natural to me when he can speak his mind and it has also proven helpful in the past. He is of no use to me if he can’t criticise me.”

Their first visit was to Lord Sutton, whom Thomas was most confident would come to his aid; they were old friends, having attended Eton together, and he knew everything of old Lord Hamilton’s character. They had spent many a night under the covers together, cursing him and imagining the different ways he could be made to suffer for his crimes.

“Charlie, dear boy!” Thomas said affectionately, and shook the man’s hand when he met them in his drawing room. “Is Halsey still here? I heard you took him in for a while. I hope he wasn’t too bothersome!” Sutton snorted unattractively.

“Left earlier today. I’m afraid I haven’t any wine to offer you, gentlemen; he drunk me out of my house.” Sutton looked like he could murder someone, and Thomas started to regret his timing.

“That is for the best, I suppose. We’re not here for a friendly visit, I’m afraid, although I believe you’ve already gathered that. It’s about my plans for Nassau,” Thomas admitted, and appealed to the other man in the way he saw as most effective; “and the war I have just entered, going against my father – if you care to listen to my whinging yet again, after all these years.”

They left the house an hour later, Thomas with a feeling of great relief. He should not have doubted Sutton, he knew, but after being completely abandoned by the people of his salon – people he had spent years and years discussing politics and morality with, he began to realise that faith was a fickle thing, and to understand how truly naïve he had been for so long, thinking himself in control, certain of the people in his life and how he lived it. All those years had been worth nothing in the end.

However, Sutton remained his faithful friend. He had suggested going to Philpott, and Thomas realised that he, neither, had heard from him. When he told him of his situation, he had immediately decided that he must go to him and offer whatever comfort he could in such hard times. He was a good boy, was Sutton, selfless and caring of others but prone to neglect himself – that a trait which Thomas had tried to turn him from since the day they met without luck.

Thomas and Peter moved on to meet the lords Lewis and Form next, sat at a coffee shop in – Street. They were harder to convince, but ultimately, victory was theirs. Both men were long supporters of Thomas and his opinions, and it only took the mentioning of Philpott’s name – and his eager support – to turn them round.

They had tried to contact Dunster, but had had no reply to their pleas. He had been absent lately, and Peter talked of some family tragedy or scandal that he knew very little about.

“What do you think about L– and K–? The pirates are especially inconvenient for them, also, but do you think they would rather see them hanged, even though we have seen that hangings have little effect?” Thomas asked in the carriage on their way to meet Lord T–. “I keep thinking that they would be easy allies, but I’m certain of nothing anymore and if they are angry, they won’t think rationally about the solution we offer. Men are decidedly too inclined toward petty revenge, seeming to forget that it is a vicious circle.”

“I think that we should get to them before your father does.” Their interaction with Lord T– was not as successful as the others before it. He heard them, then he dismissed them with a wave of the hand.

“I will not place myself in the middle of a family feud,” the Lord said with an air of importance.

“Think about my offer. There might be great benefits for you, should you cooperate.” When they were out of hearing distance, Thomas muttered; “I hate bribery.”

“We have to do everything in our power if we’re to succeed,” Peter replied, unbothered – perhaps a bit thrilled. “I will see you in the morning. I need to return to Abigail; my wife is away and she doesn’t like to be alone with the servants. I think I need to find her a new governess,” he mused.

“Peter?” They were out in the rain again, the rain that never seemed to stop, that turned the city grey and made everything seem dead and abandoned. “Will you take her with you some time? She and her mother, both? I think, after some weeks of this, a break will be most welcome and she is such a wonderful girl, your Abigail.” Peter regarded him silently, solemnly, and nodded. He looked about to leave, but something stopped him, and he spoke hesitantly; “Why don’t you have children?”

“We tried,” Thomas admitted, and felt suddenly all the regret of the failure wash over him. He inhaled shakily, and swallowed hard past the lump in his throat. “We tried – _I_ tried, but… we can’t.”

“You would have made a wonderful father. Better than me.” Thomas wasn’t so certain, but Peter only clasped his shoulder and left him in that detestable downpour.

He was not certain what drove him to do it, but he asked the driver to take him to James’ address. When they arrived, it took only one inquiry to find out which rooms were Lieutenant McGraw’s, and Thomas knocked on the door with more confidence than he felt.

James visibly drew back when he saw who exactly had come to visit him. “Thom – My lord, what are you doing here?” James was dressed in his shirt-sleeves and breeches, walking with naked feet on the rough floor of his lodgings. The wood looked as if it could give him splinters.

“I – don’t rightly know. I just came from the last meeting, and I felt – rather tired. I wanted to see you,” he whispered, “and I thought it might interest you to hear how it has gone. Perhaps I could invite you to dinner tonight? You could return in the carriage with me.” James opened the door wider and Thomas stepped past him, fidgeting with the ring on his finger. When the door closed, it was only them – and silence. James’ hand landed feather-light on his shoulder, uncertain. Thomas turned around and swayed into him, forcing James to take him in an embrace lest he fall over. Thomas pushed his face into James’ neck, a-skewing his own wig, and breathed in the smell of James – a faint scent of sweat that was only pleasing to his nostrils, grounding him. James reached up to pull the wig from his head and buried a hand in Thomas’ damp hair, pulling him tighter until they clutched each other with fervour, seeming to know instantly what Thomas needed.

“Were you successful?” James asked in a whisper.

“Mostly.” Thomas worried his lips over James’ neck. “I’m not asking you to stay for the night, unless you wish, but I would nevertheless be very pleased if you would eat with me. Miranda is away and I feel reluctant to be alone.” James pushed him away and gathered his clothing. Five minutes later he was decent, and they stepped together into the carriage. Thomas only pulled discreetly at James’ finger to have them sit side by side.

“Did I overstep, that night, when I – when we –” James looked away, frowning. Thomas took his hand and put them over his own thigh.

“No, not in the least. It was – very good.”

“You truly want it – you truly enjoy – _that_?” His tone was questioning, not accusatory, which Thomas thought a step in the right direction.

“More than anything. Out of all the bodily pleasures, it is the very best. Not what anyone might do to me, but what _you_ can. I enjoy the brush of your skin against mine, the weight of you in my hand – the fact that you have bulging muscles instead of breasts! If I’m honest, I don’t enjoy being with women at all, James. I hardly ever take Miranda to bed – that’s why she has always taken lovers!”

“But I do! I enjoy women very much! To want both… it feels greedy,” James admitted, pressing into the meat of Thomas’ thigh.

“How so? Why should you be greedier for sleeping with one man and one woman, than another man for sleeping with two women? You’re not very logical today, Lieutenant!”

During the meal, Thomas updated James in more detail about the day’s results, and saw that James was put at ease with the normality of it; it was something they had done many times before, and he had perhaps worried that things would be strained between them now that they had shared a bed. Admittedly, the feelings were not foreign to Thomas either, but he forced himself to talk as if nothing had happened, and saw that there had been no need for worry.

It came as no surprise, however, that when Thomas brought him to the library and shut the door firmly behind them, James seemed to squirm in his skin and would not look at Thomas as he approached. Thomas would have none of that.

“James?” The man turned his face upward and Thomas bowed down to brush their lips together without further ado about it. He was overcome with the rush of the sensation as if it was the very first time, but Thomas was bolder know and that drop of water only made his thirst more unbearable. Thomas brought his hands to James’ face like before and pulled him closer, kissed harder. His thumbs caressed James’ jaw, and at his insistence, perhaps a bit overwhelmed, James’ mouth opened on a sigh that Thomas swallowed greedily. Then he dipped his tongue into the warm depths of the Lieutenant’s mouth, tasting there the wine they had drunk and felt the queer sensation of James’ tongue dancing with his own in a heady battle which none sought to win.

When Thomas retreated, James gasped for breath yet chased his lips with closed eyes. Thomas let him closer, ran his thumb over James’ wet lips, then closed his teeth around that bottom lip, so easy set in a pout, so recently prone to smile. James grunted, flinched away, but Thomas didn’t let up – let it burn just a bit – before he soothed the sting with a swipe of his tongue. James rose his hands and fisted them in Thomas’ jacket, tugged him closer as he opened his mouth again to invite him in. Thomas didn’t hesitate to engage a second time, and now that he was prepared, James responded in kind, taking him by storm.

It felt like that time when he was seven, visiting an acquaintance of his father’s; he and the man’s son had gone to the pond in their gardens to play, and he had slipped into the water accidentally. His head had gone under and his arms were flailing because he hadn’t yet learned how to swim. He thought he’d been drowning, like he now, too, thought he was drowning – drowning in James and these feelings.

The boy, a few years older than him, had grabbed him by the hand and hauled him from the water, skinny and light as he was. Now it was another hand that brought him to safety, a grown man’s hand, big and strong and calloused. James cupped Thomas’ hand over his own cheek as if saying, _slow down, breathe, we have all the time in the world_. Thomas parted their lips only to press their foreheads together and squeeze his eyes closed.

“All my life,” he said, his voice strangely deep and raspy even to his own ears, “I never thought that I could feel like this. I met you, I came to know you and then care for you like I have cared for no one else before and I feel beside myself with the strength of my emotions.” James trembled, causing Thomas to pull away and look at him, finding him troubled, eyes searching the room about them but seeing nothing. The muscle in his jaw twitched under Thomas’ hands, but he nodded, returning the sentiment in the only way he could bare, wanting Thomas to know so long as he could hide it from himself. “Perhaps we should read? You know I am unquenchable when books are concerned – or perhaps you’re tired of reading?” Thomas suggested, extracting himself from James’ immediate surroundings. James grinned slyly.

“I have only just got access to books in a way I have never had the fortune to before. I won’t tire from reading any time soon, I think.”

“Then perhaps we should read together? Aloud?” Thomas pulled down a volume, holding it up in question. “Or were you in the middle of something?”

“Not one that I have with me – has Miranda told you that she’s been lending me books from your library?” Thomas chuckled, not surprised in the least.

“Come here, then. Do you want me to read, or will you do it? Me? All right – but might I lay down and put my head on your thighs?”

A chapter and a half passed before he felt the tension leave James’ thick thighs entirely, and he was well into the second before tentative fingers traced the hairline on the side of his head, exploring the area with a seemingly indeterminate melange of curiosity and anxiety. Thomas smiled encouragingly around the words he formed and James dared let his hand dip into his hair, drawing an embarrassing mewling sound from Thomas, received with a breathless chuckle from James and a thumb caressing the top of his ear as if it was something extraordinary.

“Have I ever told you that I…” James drew breath, as if preparing for some grand confession, “that I adore your hair?” Thomas reached out and pulled James’ other hand to his own chest, covered James’ fist with his hand and held him close, tightly above his beating heart. He never stopped reading, but when he pulled his hand away to turn the page, James let his hand run experimentally over his chest.

“You might unbutton my waistcoat if you wish.” James tensed, did nothing. “Please, unbutton my waistcoat so that I might better feel you.” It was slow work, with one hand still buried in Thomas’ hair, but Thomas only read on and there was no hurry. Then James could fold away the waistcoat and set to explore Thomas’ chest once again, often letting his fingers catch on his nipples, sending faint ripples of excitement to gather in the pit of his stomach.

“It is very strange to me that you don’t have –” James cleared his throat, and when Thomas looked up he saw an embarrassed flush on the man’s face, “that you don’t have breasts,” he finished at last. If he had expected anything to fall from James’ lips, it was certainly not this. The only thing he could do to hide his laughter was bury his face in James’ lap, where he coughed and grinned and wriggled, which seemed to bother the man tremendously.

“You’re wonderful, James, you truly are.” James huffed, somewhat embarrassed, and pinched him.

“I only meant – that when with women, I would – you know, play with them. With you – with you I don’t know what to do at all,” James keened, out of his depths with no notion of how to help himself.

“Have you never been with another man before? Not even a touch?” Thomas asked then, letting his arms fall against his own stomach to relieve himself of the strain caused by the book.

“I have – I mean, the officers, when I were younger, would sometimes have me use my hand on them, and might be kind enough to do the same for me in return, and one would only have my mouth – but that was only a few times.” James shook his head with furrowed brows, remembering a clearly unpleasant experience.

“Against your will?” James found that a ridiculous question. “But couldn’t you have told on them?”

“You think the captain would believe me over them? Or care enough at all? Such things happen aboard ships, Thomas, it’s just how it is.”

“And – have you ever exerted your rank in this way?” His voice was sterner than intended. He did not care for such uses of one’s power.

“No,” James breathed. “But I was – very tempted. The only reason I didn’t was my own shame over the act; it was all right to be forced to my knees as I could not simply refuse if I cared for my hide, but to initiate it – I couldn’t, I felt Admiral Hennessey would be watching me all the way with those keen eyes.” A strained silence engulfed them and James squirmed, uncomfortable now to have let slip so much.

“Do you know that some men also like to have their nipples played with?” James frowned at that, so Thomas took his hand and brought it to his own nipple. James took it gently between two fingers and twisted carefully. Thomas only felt a slight pull; he had never been very sensitive in that area, and he told James as much. “Can I try it on you?” James looked reluctant, but nodded none the less, so Thomas put the book away and lay on his side to pull James’ shirt from the front of his breeches and squeeze his arm under both it and the still-buttoned waistcoat he wore. After some struggle he reached James’ right nipple and toyed it between his fingers. The smallest of moans pressed passed James’ lips, barely parted, so Thomas twisted his nipple meanly, making James gasp just as his hips stuttered beneath Thomas’ side.

“Do that again,” James gasped, eyes wide in astonishment. Thomas was more than happy to oblige him, so he tugged and twisted and circled James’ nipple with delight, pulling surprised huffs and shy moans from him.

He looked up and was struck dumb by the sight of James. His head had rolled back, but he could still see how his eyes were closed and his mouth open; how his face bore an expression of pure pleasure and relaxation. “You are gorgeous like this,” he whispered, because he could tell James now how absolutely beautiful he found him. And James seemed to enjoy his words, he exhaled loudly and arched his back, trapping Thomas’ hand beneath his clothes until he couldn’t move.

Thomas pulled his hand away and met James’ dark eyes for only half a moment before four hands worked around each other to get James out of his clothing. Thomas opened his waistcoat and James tugged his cravat off. Together they bunched James’ shirt under his arms and Thomas could finally reach up and close his lips around the little nub in a kiss not unlike what he had shared with James before. He let his tongue lave across it, then teased it back and forth with the tip. James’ hand found its way back to Thomas’ hair and he urged him closer, so Thomas let his teeth twitch around James’ nipple, making his gasp in pain and pleasure.

He slid from James’ lap and pressed himself between his thighs, kneeling on the floor and splayed over James’ body so he could still let his mouth torture the man senseless – for he seemed senseless now, more so than when Thomas had used only his fingers. There wasn’t a trace left to be seen of his embarrassment.

Thomas let his one free hand slide up one of James’ mighty thighs, digging his fingers to the inside of it so hard the man squirmed in his seat but pressed harder into him none the less. When his hand reached James’ crotch the man had noticeably swelled in his breeches. His lips released James’ nipple on a moan, then he kissed, nibbled, and licked at James’ chest and nipples haphazardly as he brought both hands to fumble at his breeches.

“What? _Here_?!” James keened.

“I am the master of this house, James, the servants will knock and wait for my word before entering any room with closed doors.” He got his hand inside James’ breeches and underclothes, took hold of his cock in an almost protective grip, and pulled the clothing down with his other hand to relieve it of its cage. James moaned between clenched teeth, but seemed distressed, unable to decide whether he wanted to push away or press closer. Thomas decided for him.

His hands took the place of his lips and his lips the place of his hands; Thomas took James’ rapidly filling cock into his mouth and twisted his nipples at the same time. A small burst of liquid came from James and Thomas lapped it up, tasting it hungrily.

“Thomas, you don’t have to –” A groan cut him off as Thomas sucked at his member and brought it to complete fullness in his mouth. He had to pull up to not choke himself. “You don’t have to do this!” James gasped. Thomas answered the only way he could with his mouth full; he scratched his nails down James’ sides so hard he cried out and bucked his hips, pressing into Thomas’ throat.

The weight of James on his tongue was a strange experience after so long, but Thomas was hungry for it. He worshipped James’ member with his tongue, alternating between small kitten licks at his head and long, wet stripes from root to tip. James turned limp beneath him save for the way his hips twitched in desperation and the want to push always deeper, quicker, harder into Thomas’ mouth with abandon. 

James’ thighs began to shake where they bracketed Thomas’ shoulders, barely audible whimpers escaped his mouth and when Thomas looked up, James had half his hand in his mouth, the other pulling at his own hair. Thomas upped his efforts, sucked tighter, twisted his nipples without the semblance of a rhythm, every touch taking the Lieutenant by surprise, issuing forth those keening noises that did strange things to Thomas.

After long minutes, James grabbed Thomas’ hair truly painfully, forcing him off. As realisation dawned, Thomas brought a hand from James’ nipple to work his cock tightly and twisted the other until James fucked into his fist, arched his back and spasmed, painting his own chest and Thomas’ hand in his seed with a deep groan that made Thomas realise how uncomfortably he was aching for his own release.

James looked a mess. His cock was spilling, wet and dripping from his breeches, his waistcoat was simply pushed away from his chest and his shirt was rumpled around him. His hair was chaotic; he looked completely debauched and Thomas had never been as hot by the simple look of someone.

Thomas pulled in with his nose, which was running, and James opened his eyes, still looking dazed and confused at what had just transpired. Upon sighting him, he immediately looked concerned.

“Thomas! Why did you do that?!”

“Wasn’t it – pleasant?” He scrunched his brows in confusion.

“It was, but – you’re weeping!” Thomas chuckled and leaned up to kiss away his worry.

“Worth it.”

“Wasn’t it unpleasant?” James whinged, looking distraught that he had forgotten himself and treated Thomas like any whore.

“Unpleasant? A bit, but also pleasurable. I thought you said you’ve done it?”

“There was never pleasure in it,” he confessed. “Thomas, you shouldn’t have done that. I never wanted to treat you so –”

“James… James!” Thomas rose and pulled at James’ hand, bringing it to his own crotch where he was straining – aching – against his breeches. He used James’ hand to stroke himself, lightheaded at the sensation. “I assure you, I found true pleasure in it. You feel –” His voice was breathy, but he was proud to let James hear what he did to him. “You feel so good, James. On my tongue, and your hand –” He gasped as James’ fist closed around him and tugged at him until he came in his smallclothes, moaning into James’ hair as he was bent almost in half over him. His knees went weak and he slid to the settee, bringing James down to lie upon his chest. His eyes fluttered closed and he was content to lie there, only listening to James’ soft breaths and feeling his weight and his warmth on him.

“I hope that was acceptable,” Thomas murmured into James’ hair as he stroked his back. “I worry that I press you too hard when I grow excited, and I need you to know that you can always push me away, in whatever situation we are. It will not change my feelings for you if you don’t yet want to do this; I don’t use you for what your body can provide, James, you mean so much more to me than that.”

“It was more than acceptable. It was – very good.” James’ fingers toyed distractedly, perhaps a bit uncomfortably with a button on Thomas’ waistcoat, but under Thomas’ hands he relaxed and fell asleep in only minutes. Thomas kissed his forehead and let himself slip away from consciousness as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has it been three days already? Well then, here you are and I hope you enjoyed! :)
> 
> What do you think of the relationship I'm building between Thomas and James now that they've finally gotten their heads out of their arses and started kissing 'n all? It is a tiny bit difficult to navigate, especially James' reactions considering his shame, so any feedback on that - especially if something seems very off, or assurance that it works - would be greatly appreciated.


	28. Chapter  Twenty-Seven

Miranda returned late in the evening, waking the men from their slumber. Thomas blinked tiredly as the crushing weight of James shifted atop him, and somehow he felt completely empty, ignorant of whatever challenges the future would bring. Oh, what sweet relief.

Even in this almost sleeping state, James visibly grew embarrassed that Miranda saw them in such a compromising position – and on her own furniture too! But the good woman gently petted his head, forcing it back down upon Thomas’ chest and stroked his face affectionately. In the face of such tenderness, he could not but calm and keep his reservations to himself. His cheeks were still rosy with mortification, but he was graciously ignored.

“This is a sight I intend to treasure for future reference,” Miranda chuckled. “You are so handsome, so very attractive together.” She seemed to remember Thomas’ plea, pressing for an air of light familiarity between them as it had been before.

“You find this debauchery to be attractive?” James didn’t seem convinced, but then he did have a penchant for looking at things the wrong way.

“You look vulnerable and at peace. I like it in a man when he can be sure enough in himself to show himself in such a way.” Thomas pulled her in for a sweet kiss upon the lips, caring naught for James’ full length of awkward tension on him as he did so. Miranda pushed her tongue in his mouth and chuckled. He responded eagerly, stretching the moment and possibly sharing what was left of James’ taste with her.

When they retired properly for the night – Miranda to her own chambers, claiming to be tired (although Thomas knew she was only stepping away for James’ benefit) – they found themselves in a new situation again. Thomas had to admit loving them. Every new thing to experience with James was delightful to him. They had been sexual with each other, had felt each other’s blood-heavy flesh, but they had not yet simply undressed to lie naked beside or entangled with each other. The removal of most garments had of course already been done, but James hesitated when it came to what he wore as a parody of smallclothes.

“I have already seen you naked,” Thomas remembered him, thinking with delight on the day by the river, realising it was the only time he had seen the man without a scrap of clothing on.

“That was before we -.” James stopped short. “It was not in a – an erotic kind of way,” he grunted, playing with the hem of his cloth.

“Interesting. I, for one, thought it very erotic. May I?” With his own smallclothes still decidedly on, he pried James’ fingers away and slowly slid the garment over his arse. “When I looked at you,” Thomas whispered, leaning closer to brush his lips against James’ ear. He knew not why, but it was an inviting prospect. He took James in hand. “I thought I might swoon at the sight. It was the roundness, the firmness and magnificence of your behind that sent me back in the river.”

“Are you going to make poetry of the shape of my arse, now?” James asked shyly, as if barely daring to say the words but unable to resist the gibe.

“I would make poetry of anything about you.” Thomas stroked James quicker in his hand, letting his wrist twist sideways on the way up, squeezed tighter around the head, flicked his thumb over it and tickled the knot on the underside until James was panting. Then he let go and slipped from his own clothes to fall into his newly washed sheets in the nude. James, an expression of betrayal on his lovely features, followed shortly but kept some distance between them all the same. His face had that gentle, glowing, pink hue of arousal, but his shy eyes were brimming with shame at the state of himself. It was a specific expression, Thomas had realised; the furrow between his brows combined with wandering eyes and lips pressed together as he seemed to weigh cost against benefit.

“Why, exactly, are your underclothes so exposing?” Thomas asked, smiling gently in an attempt to lighten the air between them.

“It was proper before, I assure you. I’m afraid it has seen bad treatment. Swords have gone through it – women have ripped it –” this he said with a wink and Thomas was delighted, “I’ve been forced to cut it short or walk about with dried blood on my clothing.”

“Don’t you have others?”

“I have a second pair – they’re decent – but they’re being washed. I only use these when I have to.” Was James really in such a poor situation? Hadn’t he even the coin to buy himself new clothes? Not even smallclothes? James chuckled. “I’m not as pitiable as that, I promise. I only tend to – take precautions. I save whatever I can, only using what is absolutely necessary, should I come in need, later.”

“You mean you’re a skinflint?” Thomas teased, “a miser, a penny-pincher.” James pinched him, but Thomas couldn’t muster the thoughts to care. James was so utterly _James_ in everything he did and every action he performed, and it was delightful. Thomas felt himself smiling widely. It was this man he had fallen in love with. He had fallen in love. With the liaison sent by the Admiralty, the son of a carpenter and a completely ordinary man, yet extraordinary. A man who could talk circles around him, a man who preferred tea over coffee, a man with a sweet tooth and a quick temper.

James looked thoughtful again as he played distractedly with the sheets which were pulled to his chin. With a sigh of resignation, he looked at Thomas across the bed. “I think it best if we don’t… do anything, tonight, unless you really want to.” Thomas did really want to, he would not tell himself otherwise, but there was no need to let James know.

“Whatever you want, James, and only ever that. I would never press you, I already know how hard this is for you.” James nodded. Thomas felt relieved that this was all – he sometimes worried that James would want to leave altogether – until he was asked to turn away. With a heavy heart, he did so; pained that they were forced such measures because what other people had said to James when he was younger. But then James shuffled closer and placed a hand over Thomas’ naked hip. It was the only point of contact between them, but he could feel James’ breath on the back of his neck. It wasn’t much but it was enough, for now.

*

“How is he?” Miranda asked in the morning, when James had left and it was only them again.

“I don’t know. Sometimes he seems perfectly at ease, and then suddenly he looks like a man walking willingly to the gallows for his crimes. I truly don’t understand what is going through his head and it is disconcerting. I don’t know what to do with him, Miranda,” he admitted.

“You sound as if you think _I_ can help him!” Miranda said.

“Well, I just thought – you turned me from my shame when I couldn’t pleasure you!”

“Dear Thomas, you put too much faith in my abilities!” However, when he begged her to help him, perhaps talk with James, she didn’t turn from the idea, rather welcomed it – he knew how she liked a challenge.

*

Thomas went with Peter every day that week and simply talked with men they thought probable allies. Some out of spite for his father, others out of genuine interest, and others they had something to offer. Upon the whole, they weren’t very successful, but – as Peter repeatedly assured him – few would willingly give a definite answer this early in the game. They would need to test the waters, judge the risks, before they would eventually decide whether to take the plunge. It was only a little consolidating, but enough to ease his mind whenever they received answers that were given – though no clear confirmation of support, at least with an open mind.

None the less, Thomas felt helpless, far behind his father whom he knew would have widespread support already, and he knew that Peter felt it too. They needed something more convincing to gather support, some person of greater influence than them, or greater knowledge of the pirate issue – someone whom the Lords would trust on the subject.

“Admiral Hennessey, the one who sent me the Lieutenant, perhaps he could be that person,” Thomas mused to Peter one afternoon when they were returning for a much anticipated meal. “All his life he has spent close to the subject of the pirates, his experience can be matched by few others. Do you think the Lords would hear him?”

“Doesn’t your father have too much sway over the Sea Lords?” Thomas returned to the coach – they had stopped so he could send word to James by messenger, asking him to join them as soon as he could.

“Perhaps, but this man has a particular McGraw-shaped weakness that we might exploit.” James, it turned out, was far from convinced. He was loathe to even mention his actions to the Admiral, and admitted that he hadn’t seen the man since the confrontation with the Earl.

“He will do anything he can to remove me from you. Politics is not for us to care about. He’s said it so many times I can hear him say it now even though it is quite in contradiction with his current position. I think we should only approach him when we grow desperate. He has no love for your father, I know that much, so he will distance himself from him if he can; he will try to take no part of this for he doesn’t care for this sort of business any more than he cares for your kind of men, if you will excuse me saying so.” Peter put his fist forcefully to the table with a growl.

“Who else can we appeal to?”

In the meantime, they thought up different strategies of appeal – perhaps if they were to ask for help in changing their plan to make it more acceptable, others would feel important and powerful. It was a risky way to do it, for in the eyes of many it would be a sign of weakness – they needed to figure out who would find it exciting, or who thought they might profit from working so close with them.

Again, Thomas asked James to stay, and he was not disappointed.

“I don’t like that I can’t kiss you when I see you, that I can’t hold you whenever I want,” he whispered against James’ lips before claiming them.

As they hurried to Thomas’ chambers, clutching each other and tearing at each other’s garments or lips, Thomas pondered how he seemed to never be satiated, how he always wanted more – how he craved James’ touch even if he’d felt it only seconds before. Was it possible – was it sane, even, to want someone so desperately, so keenly as he did James? He felt he was going mad with it.

Thomas took him in his mouth again and James made the most delicious noises from the pillows he trashed against. He had him wanton, desperate, before he – at last – twisted his nipples the way James loved, and the man lost it down Thomas’ throat with curses and blasphemy so strong Thomas pictured him in a dirty tavern in Port Royal; he was a sailor, after all, and it did curious things to Thomas’ already pressing arousal.

Seed dribbled form Thomas’ mouth as the amount of the salty substance overwhelmed him. It wasn’t a pleasant taste, in itself, but combined with James’ needy moans and that it was _he_ who put the man in such a state of pleasure, it became heady, and Thomas lapped him clean, searching for more.

James seemed half out of his mind, even after being satisfied, so he manhandled Thomas to lie against the pillows and slid down the length of his body, not minding the unappealing state they were in.

Still with the salty taste of James’ seed on his tongue, Thomas felt James’ own lips take him in for the first time. _Oh!_ to have a wet, hot mouth around him! Thomas moaned in the sheets, most undignified, as if he were tearing at the seams of his existence. He could hardly spare a thought for what courage this must demand of James, who has always found it repelling, but it did cross his mind, and when he pushed his hand into those delicious locks of fire he took care not to use force.

James was sloppy and untrained, but Thomas had no doubt that he was just the same. James bobbed his head, quickly, pressing as close as he could without too much discomfort, and it took the breath from Thomas, but then he _sucked_ , truly sucked on his cock and the pressure was maddening. Like that, James pressed down and pulled up shallowly only a few times before Thomas started to tremble and his breath halted in his lungs. He spilled so hard he saw stars in front of his eyes and melted into the mattress of his bed without an ounce of energy left in his body, as if he had performed some terrible, laborious exercise, or as if James had drunk down the last of his energy. The smile on his face was completely accidental, but not in the least at odds with his feelings.

“James, dear good, are you intending to kill me? That was – the most pleasurable thing I have ever felt.” He grasped for James, and saw that he had an appealing blush to his cheeks as he swallowed thickly and crawled over Thomas. Thomas pulled at him until he could press their soiled mouths together. James looked scandalised, but Thomas was nothing if not convincing.

It was better to be together in this way, Thomas had found, when James was loose and satisfied from their coupling, and not yet ready to brood over the philosophy of it. He rolled James onto the mattress and pressed his face into the man’s neck, then licked and kissed his way across it, giving particular attention to his earlobe, the spot right behind it, and the hard edge of his jaw that he had admired even before he truly understood his attraction toward the man. Then he pressed his nose to James’ hair, making him laugh.

“You smell so wonderfully.”

“I’m disgusting.”

“Just how I like you! Imagine, I have my very own disgusting naval officer! Flex your muscles and I might giggle like a young girl!” James growled and rolled them around at that, pressing Thomas’ arms above his head as he covered his entire body with his own.

“You think I’m some show for my lord? Some whore to be looked at? I will not perform for you!” There was a glint in his eye that Thomas wasn’t quite sure if it was amusement or wickedness. Perhaps it was both.

“You, Lieutenant? You have already performed for me several times.” Thomas pressed up and kissed the good Lieutenant senseless, until he could roll on top of him in turn. Oh, what luck to be able to play so innocently in bed together, to put the world on hold when it was needed, to think of something inconsequential and agreeable.

There was no doubt that it would take time, but over the next few days Thomas saw how James relaxed around him, and he saw the shame subdue in James’ eyes. It was there, of course, but it did not flare as sharply as it had in the beginning. James saw that they were pure, that what they did, they did out of love, and he saw that love, whatever form it might take, was a force of good. It took longer for James to initiate congress, but one day he sunk to his knees in Thomas’ study when they expected no-one, and took him in his mouth like a man starved for it. 

Once passed the initial shyness and discomfort, James seemed to revel in the act. Thomas looked down on him – he was leaning against his desk, for his knees had gone weak – and saw how his eyes were closed and his long lashes brushed his cheeks. He looked so concentrated, but so at ease all at once. Thomas couldn’t get enough of the sight of him, nor of the way he now knew how to please him – to pull the skin from the head of him and lick and lap and suck at him until Thomas was speechless, a stuttering, trembling mess of a man, completely at the Lieutenant’s mercy although to an outsider it would look the opposite.

When he rose, James winked and licked the last of Thomas’ seed from his lips. Thomas gaped at him, still trembling with incoherent pleasure. Then he grabbed James’ behind firmly and pulled him against himself, crashing their lips together violently.

“There now, my lord,” James said teasingly as he tucked a still dazed Thomas back in his trousers, “is that enough to meet your needs?” Thomas could only nod, and James looked incredibly smug and pleased with himself.

*

“Thomas? Thomas!” Thomas shook his head, pushing the memory far from his mind. “Where are you?” Peter asked. Thomas met James’ eyes and blushed.

“I’m sorry, I got distracted.”

“By what? It’s the third time today!” Thomas was, again, lucky to have James.

“We were talking of the Governor – Thompson. Perhaps he could bring credibility to our cause. He is the one who knows best the situation in Nassau and the surrounding territory; if he thinks the plan possible, surely that will hold great sway among the Lords. You said he has friends in the city, that he has support?”

“Yes!” For a second, Thomas could see the tides turning in their favour. “Yes, that is brilliant!” The question that remained was – how should they contact him? They put all their effort, again, to write out an appeal. A plea for help and for support, promising the man a prosperous Nassau, whatever help he needed in way of soldiers and coin to build a town and keep it from returning to lawlessness. It didn’t feel enough. Words couldn’t express emotion if they were only writ on a page, but it was something to do while they were otherwise in a lull.

They met only three times a week now; any more would be wasting time. And it was becoming tedious, presenting the same ideas so many times to people who didn’t want to listen. With every meeting, Thomas felt worse, not necessarily for the resistance they were met with – they also found support, though it was rarer – but the way his speech had become so familiar it was hard to find the spark that would convince the attenders that he was genuine, and that success was a plausible outcome.

It was nice, then, to know that James and Miranda would be awaiting his return. There was tension between them, Thomas saw, but they manoeuvred around it skilfully, and they seemed dear friends.

“Should we continue teaching the Lieutenant Spanish?” Miranda suggested after dinner, and it was met with energy. Miranda was wonderfully active, and having talked the entire day, Thomas put himself in a more passive position, although he was just as amused as them when she taught him to say things like ‘fuck you!’, ‘fuck me!’, ‘stick it up your arse!’, and his favourite; ‘what the fuck?!’, which resulted in him yelling, whenever she said something he didn’t understand; “Qué chingados!” very loudly.

By the end of the night, Miranda had taught him, quite without his knowledge, to say perfectly, ‘please, sir, fuck me hard in the behind!’. That was when Thomas laughed the loudest, for James looked so proud when he mastered it.

Perhaps it was coincidental, perhaps not, when Thomas asked James that night for something they had yet to even speak of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession time:  
> Today I'm going across the country for my new job (which I'm very excited about) but I literally have no idea what I'm going to - like, no clue. I'll have internet at home but I might be away from home a lot, which will of course make it impossible to update on those days (because I won't have internet then). Don't worry, though - I'll update every time I can, and I'll warn you if I know that I'll be away for a bit. If there should be a long wait between updates I'm really sorry and I promise it is coming as soon as I have the opportunity!
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter and continue liking this story as it slowly draws to an end (which is written all out, about 119,000 words or so will be the end result). I might not have the opportunity to write notes in the future, so just in case - I will see your comments, and they are just as appreciated - always, even if I might not have the time to respond! So please tell me what you think!
> 
> Thank you all for your wonderful support xx


	29. Chapter  Twenty-Eight

Miranda kissed Thomas goodnight before retiring, and squeezed James’ hand in hers. When alone, James removed his shoes, filled a glass of wine, and brought it to Thomas’ seat, where he put himself beside him, throwing his legs over Thomas’ knees. They shared the glass in silent companionship, drinking slowly to savour the taste.

“You might kiss her too, if you like, James.” The man nodded, but said no more on the subject. He put his head against Thomas’ shoulder and drove a hand into his hair.

“I lie awake some nights when I’m alone, and I resent myself, even now.” The words were so shy he could barely hear them, and he suspected James had hoped he wouldn’t.

“That’s all right, James. To overcome one’s demons, whatever they may be, is never a simple thing.”

“But then I see you, I’m with you, and I forget every worry. The way you shine, the way you look at me, it makes me feel good, appreciated, and how can I turn my back on something so pure? How can it be anything but pure when it is _you_?”

“So, you will let me take you to bed again tonight?” Thomas teased.

“I haven’t the strength nor the will to deny you anything. You shine, Thomas. I don’t know if you realise, but it is as if some inner light always fights to let itself be seen, through the warmth of your eyes, the gold of your hair, past your lips as you smile. How can you be anything but Good.” They ended up together, yet again, beneath the sheets, with wandering hands and lips trading kisses. James seemed intent for this to go the way it had gone every time; their mouths on each other. But for days, Thomas had been preoccupied with a different sort of matter entirely, only he was nervous to even mention the act to James in passing, much less when in bed – although he knew that was when James would be most likely to – were he in luck – consider the idea.

After a short while, James noticed his hesitance, and pulled away from where he was biting at Thomas’ shoulder.

“Do you not want this?” he inquired with a frown that had nothing to do in bed. He still wasn’t as comfortable as Thomas would have him; he immediately drew away in that insecure manner he had taken on, which Thomas was so surprised to find this strong in him.

“Of course I do, never doubt it. But there’s something – something I wanted to talk about… How much do you know of how men are together?” James huffed indignantly, saying there couldn’t be a thing he hadn’t heard of. Thomas didn’t doubt it, but hearing of something and considering it are to very different things. “I wondered if you would perhaps consider – though do not feel as if I’m asking this of you tonight; were we to do it, it would be on your terms, you have my word – to have me, the way you would a woman. Celearly, I don’t mean exactly that way, but –” Thomas huffed, surprising himself in his embarrassment, not finding the words to say this in a way that wasn’t scandalising. “I’m sure you understand what I’m asking,” he said in the end. James was still beside him, but unmoving. It was unnerving and Thomas already considered to have him forget he ever asked, but decided that he would not let James off so easily. He would not be too afraid to ask for what he wanted, not when he specified that the decision was James’.

“Do you truly want _that_?” He looked bewildered, as if it was something he hadn’t considered before as an act performed between lovers. Thomas nodded, and James scrunched his face further, in that familiar expression of deep contemplation. “Isn’t it – dirty? I always thought… it seems painful, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s wonderful, James. It is beyond anything you can imagine.” It was the first lie he ever told him; he knew nothing of buggery. James looked sceptical, still, and Thomas had to admit that he was not entirely certain himself. Of course the act must hurt. He’d contemplated it while holding James in his hand, and he couldn’t believe the girth of him would fit, but he had heard, from a boy he interacted with during his last year in school, that it was exactly how Thomas had described it to James. He couldn’t help but be curious.

“Do you truly wish it?” James asked with renewed intensity, and looked at Thomas unwaveringly, gauging his reaction. Thomas nodded. “Then show me what to do.”

“ _Now?_ ” James shrugged, adopting an unconcerned air that Thomas simply knew – not by any flaw in it, for it was very convincing – was pretend. “If you are completely certain.” There was that shrug again. Thomas decided to trust James with himself. He considered for only a moment before deciding that the whale oil he kept for his lamp would be most suitable in this moment. He rose and fetched it, swaying his hips just enough so it didn’t look a parody. James kissed him thoroughly for it when he returned to him.

“Oil from a sperm-whale. Remember me to acquire something else that serves our purpose just as well for further explorations; this is very expensive, in coin and blood alike.”

“Blood, too?”

“Think of the sailors – it’s dangerous work, the whale fishery!” James chuckled.

“I thought you meant the poor whale.” Then he kissed him again, and Thomas almost let himself be distracted by the tenderness of it.

“I will need thorough preparation before you can – enter. I understand if you want me to do it myself.” James simply shook his head with grim determination. “Will you tell me, then, if it is most convenient when I lie on my belly or on my back?”

“I want to be able to see your face,” James said, his voice strangely hoarse. Thomas put himself on his back, then, and James slid down his body, but hesitated. “We should make the oil more easily accessible – that bottle is too big.” Thomas sent him on a mission to find something else, and James came back with a bowl in his hand, looking for all the world like a pagan God of the sea, rising to claim what was rightly his. At his questioning eyes – so adoringly at odds with Thomas’ thoughts of him as a diety – Thomas nodded, and James poured oil in the bowl and put it beside Thomas’ hips on the bed. James’ fingers were trembling slightly, but he dipped one into the bowl, and found it wide enough for his entire finger to come back coated in it. He nodded to himself and climbed back in the bed.

Gently, awkwardly, and kneeling beside Thomas’ legs, James started parting them. Thomas felt suddenly self-conscious, exposed. It took every ounce of concentration not to resist James’ gentle hands, but his cheeks burned none the less. _Spreading your legs just like a woman_ , he thought. He didn’t think, like so many others, that women were inferior creatures, but then why was he so ashamed now for supposedly acting like one? His cheeks burned further as he felt anger at how weak he was.

Then his legs lay splayed open on the bed and tremors went through him. James looked breathless and worried and overwhelmed all at once, but beneath all that there was an unmistakable streak of yearning; hot, basic desire. James pulled himself from his thoughts and trailed his fingers down Thomas’ thighs so feather light it tickled. Then, almost squirming in his own skin it seemed, James circled Thomas’ hole with one, inquisitive finger. The touch was barely there, and yet Thomas felt it keenly for all his attention was in that spot. It was – it was… Thomas tried to pull in more air but realised he was already holding his breath. He twitched, and James’ finger pressed more urgently, circled his rim again before pressuring lightly directly on his hole. Thomas’ breath stuttered in anticipation, his hips twitched ever closer as if he were held on the edge and desperate to fall.

Then an almost horrified finger breached him, and he felt how he widened to let James in. It was – not uncomfortable, but it was about the strangest thing he had ever experienced. And it was... not bad at all.

He chuckled, breathlessly, and smiled his encouragements at James who was searching gravely for any sign of discomfort on his face.

“All right?” James inquired prudishly, a finger buried in Thomas’ arse. Thomas, exercising admirable self-restraint, managed to make his bubbling laughter sound like the moan of a particularly loud whore.

“Very. You might continue, unless you’re disinclined.” James pulled his finger out gently, then pushed it back inside to the very last knuckle in one smooth move. Then he did it again, and again, building up a slow but persistent rhythm. Thomas became one with the mattress beneath him. His legs splayed open as wide as he could possibly get them, his eyes closed and his head fell back against the bed as he gave himself completely to the feeling. Oh, _the feeling_! The way James pulled and pushed at his rim with every twitch was more devastating than anything he had felt before. Then James’ tongue touched the head of his member and punched a surprised groan from Thomas’ lips. A hand went instantly to tangle in James’ devilish locks and clenched when the man sucked hard around him. Heat pooled in Thomas’ belly more effectively than from any wine, however strong.

“Another finger,” he managed to gasp. It led James to pull out completely, accompanied by wild protests from Thomas. When James came back he had withdrawn from his cock and focused his attention solely on pressing back inside with an additional finger without causing pain.

There was none to speak of, but Thomas admitted to some slight discomfort, finding the feeling quite queer as he was opened further in that unnatural way. He brought James’ head back down and it was all forgotten. James was gentle, achingly gentle with him. However sweet it was, Thomas was experiencing an arousal so pressing it was torturous. It took some little time before he realised that his hips had started rocking of their own accord to try and take James deeper inside him, to have him move more rapidly, forcibly. James, the wonderful man, caught up with his situation and the thrusts of his fingers grew harder, the awkward and uncoordinated flicking of his tongue all over Thomas’ member grew frantic, lost all semblance of control.

With impatience in ever feature, James pulled back again and almost tipped the bowl over in his hurry to coat another finger with the oil. Thomas had the presence of mind to open his eyes and look at him when he pulled off. Every feature of him, every muscle, was taught with tension. His cock bobbed between his thighs as he moved, as large and glistening as Thomas had ever seen him. The muscles of James’ arms rippled and flexed, and it was as if he put on a show of it solely for Thomas’ pleasure, although he knew James was quite oblivious to the effects he had on him.

James took care to take him in his mouth before pushing inside him again, so when he came with three fingers, Thomas hardly spared the surge of pain a thought. It went as the first two times, but now Thomas couldn’t tear his eyes from the sight of James sprawled between his knees, his head bobbing over him, his elbow pushing and pulling constantly, his hips rutting shamelessly against the sheets to satisfy his own desire. Just as he felt that culmination of warmth again in the lower regions of his belly, James pulled off his cock with a gasp. His face was tear-stained, and it seemed he had overexerted himself in his eagerness.

“Thomas – can I…?” It was a plea if he ever heard one, so Thomas nodded, having not the mind to consider the girth of James’ cock in comparison with his fingers.

James rose to his knees and put his entire hand in the oil, then gave the bowl to Thomas to put away. When Thomas turned back, James was fisting his gorgeous cock with eyes closed in bliss. Had he spilled his seed now, it would’ve landed on Thomas’ belly, for he was on his knees between his legs.

“Dear God, James, you look like the Devil come to tempt me with the most delicious of sins. I have never seen anything as lovely as the sight of you in this moment and I’m aching to have you inside me.” He knew not where those words came from, but spill from his very own lips they did, and the blush on James’ cheeks spread down his neck and swallowed up his chest rapidly like a river pushing past its banks to flood everything about it.

Then everything happened very quickly, it seemed to Thomas – although he knew for certain that James had been very careful – but suddenly the head of James’ cock had entirely breached him and it brought on such a shock of pain that Thomas cried out with it. Then it only worsened. Tears prickled in his eyes as he squeezed them shut and ground his teeth. He fisted the sheets so hard he almost thought he drew blood from his palms.

“Thomas – Thomas relax! Breathe!” James urged, and put a steady hand on Thomas’ chest. “Don’t clench.”

“I’m not clenching!”

“Yes, you are! I can feel it!” Not moving either in nor out, James leaned over Thomas’ body and started kissing him as his slick hand went to Thomas’ cock. Between these points of attention, Thomas grew more relaxed until James could shift carefully in and out of him with just the very head of his cock inside.

Thomas steered his mind in the direction of his own cock, and the pleasure that rose steadily there pulled his mind from the chamber of agony it had delved into with not so much as a warning. He pulled his legs further up, then circled them around James’ waist, and – _there_! 

“Ja-ames! Oh God. God yes.” He felt his eyes roll in his head as he sunk into the mattress and brought James with him with a hand behind his neck. James shifted closer on his knees until they were on either side of Thomas’ hips, and rolled into him as if it was the simplest thing in the world. And certainly the most pleasurable one. He shuddered in Thomas’ arms – for he had thrown them around him too – and did it again, always sinking a bit deeper, until he stilled, and Thomas felt his bollocks against his arse. The pain wasn’t gone entirely; he felt it every time when James pressed his entire length inside, but it was not enough to be discouraging, not when James was _inside him_ at last, as close as two persons could be, looking down upon him as if he was everything he desired and more. _Perhaps_ , thought Thomas in a deluded and confused state, _perhaps I’ve brought meaning to James’ life_.

Then James began that gentle rolling of his hips again and pressed his face beside Thomas’, breathing heavily into his ear so that he could hear every moan, every grunt and sigh of pleasure.

Thomas was drowning again, drowning in his mind and drowning in pleasure. Every thrust from James sent a hot spark up his spine as he pushed a spot which seemed the very origin of his impending release, urging him every time to let go and grind against James in a most shameful and desperate way.

Thomas’ legs wound tighter around James’ middle as the warm feeling spread from his belly and his bollocks tightened against him. He could hardly breathe and he thought that desperate keening sound might come from his own lips but he wasn’t conscious of making it.

“Come on,” James growled in his ear and snapped his hips hard against him, making white hot heat gather low in Thomas’ stomach. Then he did it again, fucked Thomas hard into the mattress, making him burn and tingle and gasp for breath as he fell over the edge and shot his seed between them with an almost pained whimper. James thrust one, two, three times, then his face went entirely slack and he ground against Thomas as deeply as he could go, small rippling, desperate movements as he emptied himself in Thomas.

James collapsed on him, but the continual stretch of him inside was too uncomfortable, so Thomas nudged him out, and then joined him in a half-senseless tangle on the bed without a thought for anything but sleep.

“I think,” Thomas started, but forgot the rest. Some minutes later he finished the sentence without remembering his first attempt at all. “I think that is the best I have ever felt, Lieutenant, and I think I will now sleep through both night and day.” His limbs were useless. He could barely spare the effort to draw breath. James was lying on him – God, but the man was heavy – and it was for all intents and purposes, very disgusting. Had he been more aware, he would’ve commanded to be cleaned right away, but now, in this moment, everything felt as it should be; for once, everything felt right with the world.

With monstrous efforts James heaved himself from the bed and staggered to the wash basin like an old drunk to fetch and wet a piece of cloth and brought it back to Thomas. Not knowing what he ever did to not only get James, but also have him be so gentle, Thomas just laid back without shame as James washed him tenderly but quickly, then washed himself, threw the fabric to the floor, and fell back to bed as if he had no energy left what so ever. Thomas, to repay him for getting up at all, struggled to pull James back atop him and held him there in a sluggish embrace, reluctant to ever let go, or even fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost forgot today O.o
> 
> The last three days have been wild, and it is probable that it will be difficult to post every 3 days but I promise I'll do my best - and if there are more flaws and stuff than usual, excuse me, I don't have a lot of time to go through every chapter now :)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this!


	30. Chapter Twenty-Nine

Thomas came to in the morning very slowly. There was a gentle ache in his body, but it was far from uncomfortable. He felt bone-tired and yet perfectly awake at the same time. It was something of a curious feeling, but one he thought might rapidly become his favourite.

The gentle splatter of rain on the windows they had grown so accustomed to these last days had worn off, but the sky was overcast with thick, white clouds that seemed to give their colour to everything they touched. James’ chest, for example, looked just as white, save for one or two little things.

“Your chest is so hairy,” Thomas muttered, and licked at it from where his head was resting against it. James’ usually flaming hair, looking matt but no less captivating in this light, was splayed over the other side of his chest, covering a nipple Thomas would very much like to get at.

“I’m a grown man, you know,” James grunted. For a Navy man, he was a strangely late sleeper when he could and did not like early mornings. That didn’t stop Thomas from waking him when he, himself, awoke.

“But I hardly have any hair on my chest at all.”

“Then perhaps you’re not really a man,” James muttered with closed, uninterested eyes, and pulled Thomas closer by those ridiculous arms of his. One such arm circled Thomas’ back, the other his waist, and James held him fast against him with a grip just hard enough to be intended to prove to Thomas that he couldn’t get away if he wanted. He was, indeed, thoroughly trapped; he could barely wriggle a little bit, but he didn’t mind much when James’ scent filled his nostrils and made his head swim.

Thomas started kissing his face rather like an overly excited cat, but James stubbornly kept his eyes closed and ignored the assault.

“You know,” Thomas said, growing a bit desperate, “I can still feel the girth of you inside me.” James’ eyes flew open and he groaned. Ah, there were those gentle, green eyes – but no, today they were more grey, piercing and keen and hard, the colour of flint, or the sea in storm. “Oh, look at that.” Thomas’ hand had found James’ hard member and stroked languidly. Another groan erupted from James’ heavy chest and Thomas felt the reverberations of it in his own as if they had become one during the night.

“Will you please not do this?” James unwound his arms and rolled onto his side, away from Thomas. He pulled the pillow around his head. Thomas simply followed, pressing his own arousal against James’ back and reached around to play with him again.

“Only if you give me a very good reason.” James muttered something about sleep and bothersome children. When Thomas simply continued stroking with his loose fist and slow motions, James finally broke.

“Because I will claim you until you can’t sit right for a week without thinking of me!” James growled at last.

“All right,” Thomas grinned. James pounced.

*

A letter from Peter announced his absence the following week; poor Abigail was terribly sick from playing in the rain at the country estate and his wife had begged him to join them there. Other men might think it a weakness that Peter was so easily swayed by the women in his life, and would say that there was no reason for him to join them as they would have the best physician there with them. Peter loved them more than anything and he would get everything his wife wanted and he would jump if Abigail asked it of him. Thomas thought this, without question, his most redeeming quality, and seeing Peter with them had always made him happy, had warmed him to the bones.

Thinking of it now, with James on the other side of the table, he could almost see him lifting a young red-headed girl in his arms with a smile so brilliant and proud his chest ached at the mere thought. If they could – if he could be a father with James, and Miranda would be with them, surely they could be all three together – somehow.

Oh, he was sure James would adore the little rascal and teach it all sorts of naughty tricks that Miranda would encourage, and he would need to scorn them all for through his laughter.

Thomas was overcome with this line of thought. He couldn’t bear to think about it, for it would never be. His elbow landed hard on the table and his forehead in it. It took him several seconds to regain his bearings, and when he looked up he was under heavy scrutiny.

“Thomas?” Miranda asked. James had reached for his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“I was simply thinking of something impossible, there is nothing wrong.” Miranda left them to visit friends and although Thomas was glad for the time he would have with James, he was weary that she left to remove herself from them, that she did not feel welcome in their company. It pulled at his heartstrings and he knew that he would need to do something, but later.

For a little while he and James pretended their thoughts did not go in the direction of the bedroom. They walked in the garden and admired flowers they knew nothing about. Thomas had great fun when they found some small blue ones for he picked them and pushed a whole lot of them into James’ tied hair. The result was so ridiculously attractive that he couldn’t refrain from stealing a kiss that only served to distract them more and set his heart beating violently in his chest for fear of discovery and delight at having kissed him outside in the fresh air.

“You know, when I first met you I never thought you could be so childish,” James scolded, but Thomas caught him stealing glances at himself in the windows with his new decorations none the less. “You seemed so focused on being taken for a man while believing others saw you as a child.”

“Having always been treated as one – you heard my father – has made me cautious. I think I look younger than I am; can you believe me if I say I’m rapidly nearing my forties? And in my field that is not a good thing, I’m afraid. I also seem to have an air about me which tells people they needn’t concern themselves with me.”

“I’m glad. Perhaps you would have found someone else if they cared to look at you and see how you truly are, for no one could do that without swooning for you.” James smiled boyishly up at him and got an arm around his shoulders for it. He let it sit there only for a moment before shrugging it off with reluctance.

“I wish I could scream from the rooftops that I’m yours,” Thomas whispered instead into James’ ear, which pinked. “You’re the most extraordinary man I have ever met; your strength, your intellect. You always keep on, James, and you don’t care if people tell you that you can’t. I’m sure you could do anything you set your mind to.” This silenced James for a long while, but Thomas didn’t interrupt him as he seemed to be mulling over some important matter. Thomas let their hands brush for a second, tickling James with his little finger.

“I think, if you had known my journey, you might think less of me,” James admitted.

“Do you care to explain why?” Thomas adapted a carefree air, quite certain that whatever James said he could not horrify him.

“It is a fight to become an officer, for someone like me especially. I did not hesitate in making an actual fight of it at the slightest provocation. You heard what happened with the man who insulted you, but I started long before that; even as a young boy, slight as I was, when the elder boys picked on me or William, or my sister, even – for they didn’t like that she was a better man than any of them – I attacked them because I knew that my punches were harder although they were bigger and stronger. I have a reputation for violence and even Hennessey says he is concerned about my – anger. And the men who killed William – I was not exaggerating when I said I wanted to hurt them, Thomas!” James shuffled and flinched and twitched awkwardly beside him. Thomas linked them at the elbow and walked perhaps closer than was decent, but there was no one there to notice it. “I’m not kind, Thomas, not nice or gentle or forgiving. You shouldn’t misjudge me, for then this –” he waved between them demonstratively, “- is a lie. And I’m afraid that I might – hurt you. It's what I fear the most, and I have almost done it already.”

“You think I haven’t seen your fire in its purest form? I saw you that night, James. I saw how it ran like poison in your veins and it did nothing to discourage me because I understood.” Thomas stopped them walking and put his hands on James’ shoulders to still him too; they were facing each other. “You love more strongly than any I have seen before. Your anger comes not from malice or a perverse sadistic pleasure, it is a response to injustice that you simply cannot stand for. That is also another quality to admire; it is important that we care, and this is simply your way of showing it.” James still looked doubtful, but Thomas didn’t let him dwell on it. They returned to the house and the bedroom, sneaking through the halls on their way. It wouldn’t do to be caught in the act and there were simply too many servants.

Thomas bothered only to remove his shoes before falling to the bed and pulling James along with him. It was terribly inconvenient, but he let his hands fumble as he fought an ever-losing battle with James’ mouth because he always ended up giving so James could plunder him.

The removal of their clothing was quick and frantic, but when James began preparing him, his pace slowed to the point of becoming agonising. It was easier to take him than it had been before, and Thomas wasn’t so desperate as he had been then. This felt less like getting fucked, and more like making love.

James pushed into him in one, smooth thrust, so soft there was no pain at all, and he continued with that pace as he was propped up on his arms over Thomas, gazing down at him with bright eyes as if he wanted to be suspended in this moment of gentleness forever.

“I wish we could go back to the country house now,” James said, steadily rocking in and out, never changing his rhythm or his angle. He didn’t push that spot which would make Thomas go blind with pleasure, but that was good. “I wish I could make love to you in that apple orchard as if we had all the time in the world. I would treat you so nicely, as nicely as you deserve.” James’ eyes never flickered, and Thomas couldn’t look away from them. They held the colour of the grass James had sprawled on that sunny day. “Can you feel it beneath you, the blanket? The grass tickling your ears, the sun warming your arms?” James guided Thomas’ arms over the sheets, stretched them above his head and pushed them down into the unforgiving earth beneath them. He pushed inside, a bit harder, seemed to lose his thread and his breath for a moment. “I can see the sky reflected in your eyes. I can see the sunshine in your hair, I can – ah –” James gasped into Thomas’ mouth and emptied himself inside him, pulling Thomas along with him over that edge and into the abyss only by the feeling of his twitching member, his own cock pressed between them in the sweat of their bodies.

“That would be wonderful,” Thomas whispered in return, caressing James’ hair gently as he settled.

*

Miranda returned to them in the evening and Thomas was glad, because he had been scheming. Deliberately he encouraged rapport between his wife and his – his James – very subtly. A comment here and a comment there sent them in a heated discussion of the existence of the Devil which turned into a battle of wits by way of increasingly mean insults until they started shouting at each other only to collapse in laughter at each other’s faces. And from there Miranda begged James to tell her more of the art and strategy of sailing and how to manoeuvre in naval battles. They grew so excited that they went to the floor with books to imitate such a battle so he could explain with better ease. Miranda looked upon with wide eyes of childish delight and Thomas looked at _them_ and found that he was the luckiest man in all the world, and the happiest, too.

Again, he couldn’t refrain from thinking of a child sitting between them, or perhaps on his own lap watching them bicker. James would raise it to know its way about a ship were it a boy or a girl, Miranda would teach it to fight with words instead of fists, and he himself – his goal would be only to inspire kindness and love and a playfulness of manner.

Thomas was the first to retire, despite James’ pleading look not to leave him alone with Miranda, but that exactly had been Thomas’ intention. He heard that Miranda soon pulled him back to the conversation, and was relieved when James spoke just as vigorously as before.

Thomas didn’t hesitate to go to sleep, but was woken an hour later none the less, to the sight of a very conflicted James on the edge of the bed. He was undressing and crept quickly beneath the blankets to press himself against Thomas with a contented sigh. He rubbed their legs together simply to feel skin on skin, and Thomas pulled him closer lazily.

“Have you slept with Miranda ever since that kiss we shared?” Thomas inquired.

“No,” James replied with a frown.

“You know that you are welcome to, don’t you?” By the expression on his face, James certainly had not known that. “I fear that she feels left out by our affair and our closeness, and it pains me. Of course, I do what I can to include her, for she is my wife and I love her, but as you can imagine we have never been prone to lovemaking, as I am often quite unable with her. I think that if you were to join her some nights in bed, she would be very glad of it – but of course that is only if you want to.”

“But – wouldn’t you be –” James seemed lost for words, and it was no surprise. “You want me to be with _both of you_?”

“I want you to do what you want, and if that is to be with both me and Miranda, then I am very happy that I can make it so. I have understood that you enjoy both men and women. Go to Miranda’s chambers tonight, if you wish it.” James studied him distrustfully for long minutes, as if judging whether this was a test of his affections that would lead to Thomas throwing him on his head out were he to take him on his word.

“Truly?” he asked at last, eyebrows draw together in worry.

“Yes!” Thomas laughed. A smile flickered on James’ face, and he kissed Thomas deeply, holding his face between his hands, before he slid from the bed and out the door. Thomas found not a trace of regret or jealousy in himself, only giddiness at the thought of James pleasuring Miranda and the happiness it must bring her.

He was dosing when his door opened for the second time that night. This time it was Miranda with a candle in one hand. When she stepped further in, he sighted a confused James behind her, pulled by her hand. They were both flushed in the face from their coupling and hardly dressed at all.

“Might we join you for the night, my lord?” Miranda inquired teasingly, and he knew that this was her way of showing her appreciation for his sending James to her.

“I would be honoured.” Miranda, he had to admit, was brilliant. She slid in on his left with a small hand on his chest and a leg over his. Oh, but it was strange how small she was now that he was accustomed to James sized everything. “I believe she meant the both of you, Lieutenant, and as did I. Will you not join us?” James seemed to debate whether this was the act that would finally corrupt him beyond any hope of redemption. “Come now, James, this can’t possibly be worse than running between us from room to room.” James grit his teeth and approached. Miranda reached for him helpfully, so he settled behind her so that she was between the two of them, him against the length of her back, and Thomas almost beneath her. Thomas pulled at James’ hand and linked their fingers over Miranda’s hip and he thought he could never be better.

*

Thomas awoke to Miranda’ moan into his ear. Confused – for it was not him that caused her pleasure – he opened his eyes to the sight of James pressed urgently against her back with his face buried in her hair and a hand between her legs under her nightshirt. He had experienced first-hand himself that James’ first instinct in the morning often was to pleasure and that he was very unaware of his circumstances as he did so. He must’ve entirely forgotten that Thomas was there.

Miranda reached out and found her husband hard against his stomach. He groaned as she pulled at him and leaned in for a morning kiss.

“No – James, don’t stop!” Miranda gasped when Thomas released her mouth. James’ eyes had gone round with astonishment.

“Don’t stop, James,” Thomas encouraged, and brought his own hand to cover James’ between Miranda’s legs. James’ eyes didn’t flicker from Thomas’ face and his mouth opened in shock and something else, something remarkably similar to desire.

Miranda seemed to grow frantic between them, but just as Thomas thought she might reach her peak, she pushed them away and rolled over him to sink down upon his cock with a long, drawn-out moan of pleasure that only comes from that first penetration, and Thomas joined her in it, attacked by the sudden tight warmth surrounding and clutching his sensitive flesh.

“Dear God,” he sighed, and found James’ soiled hand to hold tight in his. He pulled, and James came willingly closer, occupying Miranda’ earlier position with a hand on Thomas’ chest. “Look, James. Look at her.” Miranda was moving slowly, in measured, rolling thrusts of her hips that made her breasts bounce, and her face was contorted in an expression of utter relief. Thomas looked at James and saw the arousal undoubtedly on his face, the hunger for her form and her touch.

Thomas brought James’ free hand to her stomach and even as James splayed his fingers over her skin he looked with anxiety on the husband she was using.

“Do not look to me for allowance, she is her own person and the one to allow or disallow touches. But I do believe she is quite anxious for your hands.” Thomas’ words were soft with encouragement and breathy with the great pleasure from his wife’s ministrations; the tight heat of her around him and the way her slick walls pulled on him urgently was something he first now realised he had missed after being only on the receiving end of a cock since the beginning of his affair with James.

With a hand on Miranda’s hip, James managed to twist awkwardly and kiss Thomas with that passionate way he had when in the heat of the moment, as if he never wanted to do anything else. But then he pulled away without a warning and rose, kneeling beside the point where Miranda and Thomas connected so that his front was fully against Miranda’s side. His heavy cock brushed against her skin as she moved and one arm snaked around her back to caress her other side while his other hand slid from her pale belly to a heavy breast that was taken carefully in hand. Miranda sighed and let her head fall backwards only for her mouth to be claimed by James’ hungry lips as thumb and forefinger gently rubbed her nipple.

Thomas thought he had never seen a scene so beautiful. He was pulsing and throbbing inside his wife with no sign of faltering as was so often the case, until he was tethering on the edge but willing himself to hold on a little longer. Oh, but the look of James so hard and aching, caressing his magnificent wife with all the adoration she deserved, was almost too much to bear, and when his eager fingers reached her sex and brushed sometimes against Thomas’ hardness as she moved, he thought he might lose all connection to the world of the living.

James moved his mouth to her nipple and seemed to bite at it, for she bucked and groaned in surprise and was egged on to move ever faster until Thomas hadn’t a thought in his mind. That was when the arm that went around Miranda’s back travelled further down to grip the inside of Thomas’ thigh with bruising force, but James didn’t stop there. For only a second he halted Miranda’s movements when only the tip of Thomas’ erection was inside her, and he seemed to slick his hand with the wetness he found on it. Thomas felt his legs tremble as Miranda resumed the rolling of her hips and James crouched down to press a finger inside Thomas’ unexpectant hole. He hadn’t room to move his hand but he curled and uncurled his finger until Thomas’ could only whimper at the onslaught of sensation between his wife and James and come with a violent thrust of his hips and a breathless groan. He trembled and breathed and shuddered his way through his pleasure, eyes never closing for the sight of his loved ones was too captivating.

Miranda slid off him and landed on her back by his side with a heaving chest and seemingly boneless limbs, but she reached for a wide eyed James none the less and he surged to put their lips together desperately. Thomas could see a drop of liquid on the tip of the good Lieutenant’s cock.

“Any way,” she gasped, “any way you want so long as I don’t have to move!” James’ chuckle sounded more like a growl as he tore away from her and laid on his stomach between her thick thighs. Thomas couldn’t see as his wife’s legs were pulled up, but he heard the moment James’ tongue entered Miranda for she gasped a moan and both her hands flew to his head to tangle harshly in those long locks of auburn hair. It was beautiful, the way his hair splayed over her naked skin, so pale and unblemished. A hand joined his lips and Thomas saw him lick Miranda’s pleasure from them as if he was tasting some sweet summer wine.

“James! _Oh, James_!” Miranda cried. Thomas settled against her with heavy limbs and put a calming hand on her chest. The position put him within reach of James, who clasped a possessive hand around his thigh with biting fingers. That was when Thomas realised that James was tasting with such energy the mixture of his seed and Miranda’s arousal inside her. Only the thought of it sent a surprising jolt of hot excitement through Thomas’ veins and he moaned against Miranda’s breast long and deep. The sound seemed to encourage the two eager lovers for Miranda bucked something aggressively and James was inspired to pull his mouth from her at last and push inside her without a second’s hesitation. It was a thrust so hard she wailed with it just as he grunted that way Thomas had come to know as him nearing the end of his endurance. A hand fondled the breast Thomas wasn’t occupying and James’ jaws were visibly slack, his mouth inviting. As he continued to rock into Miranda with the force of waves crashing against the shore in a storm, Thomas reached up to press the pad of his finger down on James’ tongue. Immediately James sucked on it and his rhythm grew erratic, then faltered completely.

Thomas tweaked James’ nipple hard and Miranda’s hand was working incessantly on her own sex and together the two of them tumbled into the pit that was pleasure in its purest form. They rocked together, quick uncoordinated movements, then slowly stilling as they came down from their high together, breathless and beautiful.

“Fuck,” James groused tiredly and tried to collapse between the Hamiltons, except man and wife were pressed rather close together so he simply ended up on top of them, solid thirteen stones if not more. They groaned at the weight, but James didn’t seem to care that the sharp bones of his hips were digging into them, nor that they were all rather sticky and disgusting.

Miranda’s hand found Thomas’ playing over one of James’ deliciously round buttocks, and together they embraced him tenderly in that half lucid state that always followed such exertions and the shattering pleasure that always seemed to remove whatever will there had been to move about and do honest work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so proud that I managed to update today, work is so demanding and I have almost no time to be on my laptop but I'm having lots of fun!
> 
> I hope you like how I did this with Miranda and all, and that this was a nice chapter :)
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos, it always makes me smile :) x


	31. Chapter Thirty

That evening there was a respite of the rain at last. James had returned to his own lodgings even before breakfast – slipping out without being seen by the servants – but not before promising to join them for an outing that evening. They were putting themselves at risk, and Thomas was sad to realise that he wouldn't share his bed with James for at least a couple of nights to come, so they had to find other ways less conspicuous to see each other, and Thomas supposed it was good, even if he wanted to spend as much time as possible together in bed. His new-found love of the physical side of a relationship was exhilarating and he seemed insatiable.

So, that evening, James met them in a designated square where the Hamiltons, in their finery, exited their carriage with word to the driver to pick them up there a few hours later, as they fancied a bit of a walk now that they had the chance.

James was leaning against the little statue in the middle of the square with a disinterested manner that was very unlike him. He was slouching, shoulders drooping, eyes downturned to inspect his nails with boredom. In the relative darkness, shadows were playing across his face, and when James lifted his eyes to sweep over the bustling people, they were dark and dangerous. His hat sat somewhat sloppily at the back of his head as if he'd thrown it on on the way out, carelessly. James was anything but careless. Thomas found himself worrying that something might be amiss, but when James caught sight of them, he winked, and his mouth threatened to form a smile before his expression was schooled back to the one of utter tedium.

When they reached him, he didn't let them stop to talk, but pushed his hands deep in his pockets and joined them in silence with a threatening look at any who dared meet his eye.

"Let's get out of here, we make a strange group this late. People probably think we've got bad business." Thomas couldn't get over the surprise to see James slinking beside them like an unhappy lapdog, but was soon relieved of the sight when they removed themselves from the square to enter a street where they wouldn't be considered twice. James straightened his back, walked with confident strides and flashed them a toothy grin. It was as if he were a different person entirely, although he didn't right his hat. He looked more carefree that way and Thomas liked it.

"You look happy today, Lieutenant, what is the occasion?"

"I didn't realise I needed a specific reason to look happy!" he replied with fond accusation.

"You most certainly do! Tell me, is there a sweet girl with a kind father and loving mother you've caught the interest of? Perhaps her father has gifted you with something to assure you of his good sentiment toward you?" Three kinds of subdued laughter intertwined in the late summer air and Thomas found it was better than music ever could be.

"I concede; yes there is a girl. She is as fair as a summer morning with eyes like the tropic seas in a calm. Her mouth has the look of ripe fruit and is as inviting, and every moment I spend with her I think I will go mad with longing." Thomas hadn't even the decency to doubt that the words were about him, so his cheeks flushed with heat, quite in accordance with James' description of him as a young maiden. James commented on that, too, and Thomas found himself jostled between the two of them as they teased good-humouredly.

They were early for the performance, but was bustled past the waiting crowd by a servant and showed to the box they would have to themselves. Wine and fruits were waiting for them, as well as three comfortable chairs which they sunk into.

"Have you ever been to an opera before, James?" Thomas asked. James snorted with a fierce shaking of the head.

"Saw a crude parody once, but your ears are too sensitive to hear how it went." The remainder of the wait, Miranda spent trying to gauge anything about the parody James had spoken of, to no avail. Thomas elected to ignore their banter and instead looked over the side to observe the people trickling inside. Humans intrigued him, their motivations their fears and desires, their simple lives and painfully obvious insignificance in the greater picture while thinking themselves the centre of all.

Then lanterns all across the room were being put out and Thomas scooted his chair to the very edge of the box where he urged his companions to join him. His gaze was inexorably drawn to James, and when they were entirely shroud in darkness he dared reach out and slide their fingers together. 

Throughout the entirety of the play, Thomas held James' hand. He had worried that James would, perhaps, think this a silly way to spend an evening, but the way his hand sometimes clutched Thomas' so hard, so desperately, that he felt his bones creak, was enough to convince him that James was overwhelmed with emotion and entirely enraptured in the tragedy of the story.

When they reached the bitter end, James stared helplessly at the scene where the actors were receiving deafening applause, and he seemed to have no inkling of where he was. When Thomas nudged at him, James turned. His eyes were bright and twinkling with unshed tears, his lips – parted slightly – were trembling at the injustice and the horror. He leaned heavily toward Thomas as if about to embrace him, but Thomas, though shook at the sight of him, managed a quick step away although the act cut him like a blade. Miranda stepped forward immediately, looking just the same as James, and embraced him in Thomas' stead. James clung to her as the lamps were lighted and the audience started to leave. He pressed his face into her neck and simply stayed there, breathing rattling breaths that pained Thomas more that the tragedy of the story could.

"Thank you," James whispered at last, and stepped back.

"Who could have thought that the Lieutenant weeps so readily?" Miranda teased kindly.

"I don't! I truly don't," James whinged, wiping his eyes. Thomas couldn't refrain a steadying hand on his elbow. "I don't tend to – I'm... very surprised. But this..." He looked at Thomas with those sad eyes, "it's the first time I considered that... that this could be us. It's not so different; an illegal love –" he muttered, and shook his head. Thomas led them out presently lest his legs give out at the sight of James in this way, and they returned together to the square where the carriage was to arrive shortly.

"Lieutenant, what did you think?" Thomas asked. James had chosen to lean against a building where his face would be shroud in shadow. Thomas thought he was being a bit dramatic, but so long as he felt more secure, he would not complain. He also had to admit that the dark look on him was very fetching.

"I think that was clear, wasn't it, my lord?" Then the carriage arrived on the other side of the square, and Miranda squeezed James' hand, but Thomas didn't dare even that despite James' pleading eyes.

"I look forward to our next meeting, Lieutenant. Until then." Oh, but he didn't move, couldn't tear his eyes from James' unaffected air which did little to conceal his trauma to Thomas' eyes. How could one such strong man look so small and vulnerable? James' throat bobbed and he attempted a brave smile, but it turned out trembling and half-hearted. He couldn't bear the thought of James slinking home to his own cold and empty chambers with the state he was in.

"Until then," James agreed in a whisper.

"James –" The man shook his head, swallowing again.

"I can take care of myself, my lord. Not to worry." James nodded, pressed his lips together, and became one with the shadows of the night.

*

"I want to do what she did," James whispered into the darkness, the only place that could be the home of such an idea.

"What?"

"I want to – be astride you, like she did that morning. I want to have you like that. I want you to have me like that." Searching fingers, locking lips. Thomas could trace some of the patterns James' freckles made even in complete darkness.

The oil was kept permanently by the bed, now. Thomas asked for assurance and James shuddered as he gave it. He teased only in the beginning, making James used to the feeling of a curious finger in that specific region of his body. Nonetheless, James wriggled and shifted with some curiosity and more unease.

When he finally entered it seemed an anticlimactic experience, but not devoid of pleasure. James shifted and Thomas came deeper. It was easier with James than it had been with Thomas; there seemed to be very little pain, overpowered by the incredible bliss that was evident on his face. When Thomas had three fingers in him, James didn't so much as flinch – instead he ground down against them with an impatient whinge, and Thomas figured it was time. James' stomach was smeared with beads of ejaculation, so Thomas took the opportunity to lick at it and have the taste of him in his mouth. What a strange thing to do, if you thought about it too long. But there was no fear of that now.

This seemed only to agitate James further, and he took things into his own hands. With quick, sharp manoeuvres, he had Thomas on his arse, back propped against the pillows and got a generous amount of oil on him. The next thing he knew, James was sinking down on his cock with a strangled groan and it was a shock if Thomas ever had one. In his eagerness to please James, he had entirely forgotten about the urgent press of his own arousal, but James now made that impossible.

Thomas had, in the past, described the feeling of being inside Miranda as hot and tight. That wasn't near what he was feeling now. James clutched at him with such force he wondered briefly if the man split himself open on his cock and what _The Daily Courant_ 's headlines would be should they die this way.

But he had not the chance to come up with a suggestion because the next moment, James was sitting on his lap having taken his entire length in one, steady slide without a sound of complaint, but he was panting, rocking almost unconsciously astride him.

Oh, it was heady. James seemed half dazed, swaying, clutching Thomas' face, one hand buried in the hair at the back of his neck as he liked to do at all times. James pressed their foreheads together and screwed his eyes shut, breathing heavily, thick chest heaving. Thomas got the tremendously good idea to bring his hands to James' ridiculous behind and grind him closer against himself, wondering – almost nearing his climax only from that – why on earth he hadn't thought to do it earlier; the position was perfect in every sense of the word.

At this James cried out and started to roll his hips back and forth, not even moving up and down on Thomas' cock. To Thomas, the action itself did little, but James must be grinding the head of Thomas' cock to that spot inside him that made him lose his mind for he bucked and swore and grimaced in pleasure something extraordinarily. If the movements themselves did little, the sight of James was more than enough to excite him beyond thought and further still.

James forgot himself in his pleasure, moved without restraint, and Thomas encouraged him, pressing and pulling at James' arse in rhythm with his thrusts. Then curiosity got the best of him and he let his fingers slide between James' cheeks, feeing his rim where they were connected. James went wild above him, so wild Thomas simply put his mouth to his nipple and he cried out into the room, shooting his seed so hard it hit Thomas' neck where he bridged the distance between them.

James remained there, still, breathing, for minutes. Then he started moving up and down even though Thomas had thought he was ready to collapse. This – this was stimulating on Thomas' side as well, more than it could be with any woman, for the sensation was strangely different. Here, it was only the rim that pressed so deliciously tight about him, while he would feel a woman's walls clutching along the entire length of him at once. No matter, the way James' seemed to pull him in almost like suction, was better than anything he could have imagined.

Just the thought of it – the thought of being inside James, for claiming him for his own when he started to buck upwards into him even after James had come – made him wrench James down on him so he could be all the way inside as he spilled his seed in him like no man had ever done before.

"That was incredible," James muttered. Thomas was barely able to nod in agreement.

*

"It won't work!" Thomas cried. "A _letter_ will never persuade the Governor to pardon the pirates. He knows the risks against his person; he would never take the chance that every single one of those men hold their tongue about his treachery when they can profit from bringing it to the light. We must show him that his sins will also be forgotten, but he doesn't know us – he has no reason to trust us!" Everywhere he turned he felt he hit a wall, but couldn't think what to do. People had started openly declaring sides, and his father was, without a doubt, the more popular choice. Peter said that it was only because Thomas' supporters were still uncertain, as Thomas himself hadn't yet made a public appearance and talked for himself.

"We have to get to him in another way, send a trusted messenger?" Peter, too, seemed to be losing his spirits, almost as if he was at his wit's end.

"No," James muttered, more to himself than any of them. When Thomas looked at him, he was filled with inexplicable dread at the pondering expression and the way James stroked his jaw morosely. "I will go. I'll talk with the governor personally, and I will get his support for our case."

"No," Thomas breathed, falling back a step. "No, we need you here." _I_ need you here. James seemed to read the words on his lips.

"You don't. This will turn the tide in our favour – with his encouragement no one would dare oppose him; he's the expert on the matter. Their arguments would fall through. We have to do this." Thomas started shaking his head stubbornly, but managed to regain his bearings enough to stop. They had company, he couldn't show himself so unwilling to part with James, not when that was their only option.

"We have to at least consider it," Peter urged, sending James a curious, but approving glance and a nod. "How long until you can leave? It is paramount that we don't lose the support we have before that time and Alfred will not relent for a second." They plunged into business that completely went over Thomas' head. Had James even considered what this meant? Three months at least would he be away. They had barely known each other for three months! It meant more than ninety days apart without any means of communication. Memories could fade in that time!

"... two weeks at most." And it was decided. James would leave in less than two weeks. Thomas nodded the approval he didn't feel.

"And we have to concentrate all our focus," Thomas said, "on gathering the support we need. We can't continue on half-efforts. We must turn them all to our side. We can't afford to lose this. We will await your return, Lieutenant, and when you come I will see that the Act is passed before the new year."

"We will see it done," Peter agreed.

*

To his great astonishment, Thomas found James lying in Miranda's lap in her bed, when he had seen him leave the house only ten minutes earlier. James looked exhausted, as much as Thomas felt.

"And here I thought I would have the opportunity to be unhappy in the company of my wife alone," Thomas chided, but was glad to see him there; they had had no opportunity to talk privately of his decision to go to New Providence himself.

"There's a convenient window in here," James offered in ways of explanation and closed his eyes again, seeming to drift off at the touch of Miranda's fingers running through his hair. Then suddenly he started. "Do you want me to leave? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed – of course you want time alone with her."

"No, I'm relieved to see you." Removing only the most bothersome clothing, Thomas flopped down on the bed beside James and put his head beside his, and they lay like children gazing at the ceiling, imagining great battles to be won for glory and great acts to go down in history to be remembered for centuries to come. Oh, but these old men hadn't the energy for such dreams now, could only care for the soft fingers on them and the soft thighs beneath them. "I don't want you to go."

"And I don't want to leave."

"But it will be nice for you to sail again." James didn't deny it, and Thomas had seen him restless, although he hadn't understood, at first, what it was, but James wasn't one to stay in the same place. James needed adventure and the physical challenge.

They did not talk much that night, but undressed in silence and held each other as the room turned blue, then grey, then black. Thomas cradled James in his arms, unwilling to let go or put even the smallest distance between them. The feeling of his skin, the warmth of him, how he breathed and was alive in his arms – only that was a miracle in itself.


	32. Chapter Thirty-One

James was incredibly busy with his preparations for such a long journey on such short notice, but he was optimistic, for Admiral Hennessey spoke in his favour and would use his power to acquire the things he would need. This, Thomas knew, was a great leap of faith from a man who was so scornful of people relying on exactly that – considering how little he truly knew of the battle between father and son Hamilton. According to James, he had explained the situation in broad terms, leaving out what exactly had upset the Earl so, but assuring the Admiral that Thomas had the right of it.

Thomas appreciated the help of course, except that it would put James' departure at only a week and a half, and they would be very busy ones; he hardly knew when he would have the time to be with him for personal reasons instead of business.

Then, on a day he knew James had been particularly busy, he suddenly heard the door to his private chambers click open late at night, and James slithered inside, silent as a ghost.

"Came in through Miranda's window," said he sheepishly. "Kissed her goodnight, too, but she was tired."

"Yes, she's spent the day reading for children in a library near your part of town. They can be quite demanding." James stepped carefully out of his clothes and folded them neatly on a chair like always (save for the times Thomas simply ripped them off his body), although he did not remove his smallclothes and the tension in his neck and shoulders lingered too. "Come here, darling," Thomas whispered, stretching his hand toward the clearly fatigued man, whose brows creased and head tilted at the endearment. If Thomas wasn't entirely mistaken, he thought he could see a faint blush travel down James' neck.

"Darling, am I?" Thomas nodded naughtily. "Miranda will get jealous," he teased.

"Oh no, she's called you much worse – to my ears at least; sweetheart, our dear boy..." James groaned and flopped to the bed, burying his face in Thomas' lap.

"I'll have you know," came the muffled reply, "that I'm a boy no longer; I fight people."

"Of course you do, my Heart." Thomas tread his fingers into James' hair, massaging his scalp, and the man's annoyed groan became an appreciative moan instead. James pulled the covers about him and made himself quite snug, then let Thomas massage the tension from his muscles. Thomas had found that when James first let himself relax and be at ease, he did not do it half way; he turned completely pliant as if he hadn't the strength to even bat his eyelashes. Thomas always took advantage of these opportunities to touch him tenderly and slowly and with no intent toward the sexual.

He liked touching James' body simply for the sake of it – for the feeling of his soft, densely freckled skin, warm and inviting. James' impressive physique captivated him and the swell of his pectorals, the thick muscles between neck and shoulder, his neck, his shoulders, his abdomen – Thomas chuckled to himself and refocused on James' pains.

"What are you laughing at?" James' muttered, only a breath against Thomas' naked thigh.

"How eye-catching you hard and calloused workmen are." He earned James' teeth in his thigh for that, but laughed all the same. "Don't punish me for finding you incredibly fetching. So fetching, in fact, that I can't rightly focus when you're laid out for me like this; you're like a feast for my starved mouth. Or like a book for my hungry mind."

"Your comparisons are shit."

"I could say much worse. Do you want to hear?"

"No!" James groaned and pressed his fingers in his ears as Thomas let sentences so sweet and romantic one could lose their teeth for listening to them drip from his tongue. He knew that James listened, and he knew that despite his complaining, he was very fond of the way Thomas showed his affections even if it might be nauseating at times.

"How is it coming along?" Thomas asked once James felt softer under his busy hands.

"Good, I s'pose. We're soon ready to leave. Don't have me think about it, not now." With a bit of shuffling, James ended up quite cosily on Thomas' chest. "Do you think there's something wrong with us?" he asked then, quite conversationally. "For liking each other, I mean?"

"Of course there's nothing wrong with us!" Thomas returned, aghast. He hadn't seen traces of James' shame concerning the nature of their relationship for a while, and this was a most unwelcome surprise.

"No – I didn't mean... But, listen to me and tell me if my reasoning is illogical; I suppose I don't entirely understand these things and with your education you might tell me if I'm wrong. But... seen from another perspective – aren't we here, as mankind, to reproduce? Isn't that our goal? Marriage is an institution so that we might reproduce, and... others." James faltered, frowning. "Am I wrong?" He was so earnest, so searching for Thomas' supposedly scholarly answer that it was quite endearing.

"I suppose... that reproduction is a rather vital part in us as in every other lifeform that we know of," Thomas admitted carefully, uncertain where James was going with this inquiry.

"Then there must be something wrong with us, don't you think?" James was excited in a way Thomas couldn't rightly decipher, his sentiment – seemingly quite joyous – so at odds with the self-depreciating words.

"I don't think there's anything wrong with us!" Thomas said, more sharply than he meant. James' eyes turned soft.

"You misunderstand. I mean only – I'm not very bothered any more about my feelings for you or our relationship. I'm only asking, I suppose, a philosophical question. Is there a flaw in us, somewhere? And if it be so, then I don't care. I don't care should there be anything wrong with us, I'm simply wondering if it's the case."

"I don't like to think there's something wrong with us," Thomas admitted, still frowning, still uncomfortable.

"No – I don't mean -!" James rolled on top of Thomas, taking both his hands and intertwined their fingers. "Thomas; that we are different, that we might be flawed, it is not a problem, same as me being the son of a carpenter; I have never seen it as a problem although to others it might seem a fault. So tell me, do you think that there is a flaw in our making?"

Thomas sighed, capitulated, only because it was James. "I suppose... I suppose there might be something wrong with us from the natural perspective, but – James, no, we're just the way we should be, we're just as we want to be, and that is what matters."

"I know," James said, kind smile on his face as he crawled into his lap. "I know, I know, I was just reflecting over it last night, and I realised that it wouldn't bother me whatever the flaw might be with me for liking you the way I do and I wouldn't have it any other way if I could." With that, James' eager lips touched Thomas' in a slow caress, nothing more than an afterthought. "I'm exhausted," James admitted, slumping against Thomas who brought his hands to his behind and pulled him closer. "But it would be a shame not to take this opportunity to be romantic; I'm leaving much too soon."

"Lie down, then, and I will take care of it." James considered for a second, then put himself over Thomas' lap, his abdomen across Thomas' thighs and a pillow under his head. That way, James' behind was in perfect reach of Thomas' fingers and perfectly exposed to his hungry eyes. "Have I ever told you how fond I am of your arse? It's delicious." James wriggled delightedly as Thomas gripped the globes of his arse and dug his fingers into the meat. A bizarre fancy came over him, and with a bit of shuffling Thomas could bend down to bite James in the rear. James seemed to choke on air.

"Thomas!"

"What?" Thomas put his lips to him now, planted kisses over every silly freckle he could find, holding James down with a hand on his back and a forearm over his thick thighs. Soon enough, he dipped his hand between those pale thighs and slid it upward slowly, making goose bumps appear on his skin, heard him sigh in pleasure. Thomas' mouth met his fingers where James' arse became thigh and he sucked down one of them, slicking it with his spit. His other fingers, meanwhile, caressed the crease between James' cheeks, making him shudder and twitch in anticipation.

Even here this slight fuss of hair was ginger, and Thomas enjoyed far too much to let his fingers trace indiscernible patterns that must be maddening for James. His breath hitched audibly when Thomas caressed his fingers from the bottom to the top of his cleft but not deep enough to touch his hole.

Without knowing where the idea came from, Thomas gently spread James' cheeks and bent down to blow hot air against him. From that only, James groaned into his pillow and his hips bucked upwards, chasing him.

Thomas wanted almost to... his tongue traced James' crease for a second, the man panted, then Thomas pulled away and pressed his slick finger up James' arse. Tension melted from him, James became a puddle of pleasure beneath Thomas' hands and he breathed a 'Jesus fuck' into the cold air of the room.

As Thomas worked his finger slowly in and out of James with no intent to tease or make him reach his peak, James seemed to drift in and out of sleep. His breathing grew shallower and evened out and he hardly seemed to notice when Thomas thread his fingers through his hair. From this angle, James' shoulders, which were so freckled one could hardly see the colour of his skin, looked enormously wide and strong – especially with the way his arms were folded under his pillow because it made his muscles bunch up. Thomas couldn't help caressing that skin to feel the contained strength of James with his hand. How bizarre that something so lethal could be so soft at the same time.

Thomas could see James' face as it was tilted toward him on the pillow, and could swear he was asleep when he started gently rocking his hips into the mattress. Thomas, just then, was busy swirling his finger around, dipping only the very tip of it into James to pull at his rim, worked quickly in an out only to his first knuckle. James moaned in his daze.

Then suddenly James shook himself awake just as Thomas crooked his finger inside him, and in the next moment he was spasming, gasping, pressing hard into the mattress. Thomas' finger slipped out.

"Did I -?" James twisted, looked up at Thomas with that sweet furrow between his eyes, looked down on himself and the mess he made of the covers, then back up to Thomas. "I just came," he concluded, puzzled. "Huh. I didn't even get hard. That's... I didn't know I could do that." 

The bed was large enough for them to shuffle away from the stain, and Thomas pulled James onto his chest where he promptly fell asleep, bone-tired it seemed. Thomas himself lay awake listening to his breathing for what felt like hours, and didn't move although it grew uncomfortably hot, or when he lost the feeling in his arm, and he had long since resigned himself to being tickled constantly by James' hair. But he didn't want to sleep and he didn't want James a breath further away.

*

In the morning James sprung out of bed and was wide awake and dressed before Thomas could properly blink himself awake. Despite his very convincing arguments about why James should return beneath the covers right away, he got only a few kisses before James slipped out the door, then out Miranda' window. Thomas grumbled and tried to fall asleep again, but was unable.

It took only half an hour before he realised that it was Wednesday, and that he had neglected his orphan boys the last month without even a notice. The Sisters must be clapping their hands with joy. That simply could not be tolerated.

He spoke of forgiveness, tolerance, kindness. He had nothing prepared, but he'd found that it was easier to address this crowd when he made it up as he went. Although he didn't speak for as long as he used to, he spent more than an hour – almost one and a half – with the boys afterward, listening to what they had to say and offering advice. He hadn't realised that he'd missed this. There was something about youths that made one want to feel young and hopeful again oneself, and that was something he was in dire need of. As of late, he had felt _ancient_ except those few times he could forget about Lord Hamilton and simply be Thomas in James' arms. And it was nice to divert himself from thinking of the fact that in just a few days James would be out of reach.

*

It was two days before James was to leave that they sat, with Peter, in the drawing room for the final preparations. Again and again they went through how James should argue their case for a most probably reluctant Governor, and how he should act if the man refused. Peter, especially, was very adamant, and kept repeating things two or three times as if James was simply some dim-witted sailor who could not be trusted to know his right form his left, much less deliver convincing arguments to men of high society. But eventually they barrelled through it and Peter seemed content. Miranda joined them when they drank to James' health and good luck – which he scorned them for ("favourable winds, you idiots!").

Peter, to everyone's annoyance, stayed with them and drank into the evening, but they couldn't simply cast him out. However, Thomas had to admit that his conversation brought a new view that hadn't been there before, a different way of seeing things. Discussions grew quickly heated between him and James, though not violent, due to their difference in status and Peter' thoughts on what James should and shouldn't dare say to him. James had "stopped giving a fuck about that shit", which made Peter's face grow red with anger – directed toward Thomas who only found it all very entertaining, especially when James started talking circles around a confused Peter and made references to books Peter had clearly only pretended to read in school.

When Peter finally left, he begrudgingly admitted that James was a match for him, and seemed to have more respect for him than he had before. James grinned almost unkindly, like a tiger showing its teeth so you might see them and fear him before he eats you. Thomas, admittedly, liked that grin more than he perhaps should've.

Then they were left alone, and no one seemed to know what to say. In each their chair, they simply sat and looked at each other. Thomas, for his part, had his mouth open on words that wouldn't come, and his eyes flickered between his two companions unsure where to settle, feeling lost and uneasy in the presence of the people who knew him best.

A candle spluttered out and died in the silence, leaving them in a room darker than before. It felt ominous, as if some shadow was looming over them, coming ever closer as James' departure came ever closer.

What does one say in the last moments of privacy before a dreaded separation with a prospect of return so uncertain? Which words ever befit a painful farewell? Are there words enough to be sufficient? Or perhaps but one is needed, and it can only be uttered by the beating of a heart against another.

However it might be, Miranda rose from her chair and rustled over to the poor Lieutenant to plump into his lap and bury her face in his sweet, soft hair. Her action seemed to have broken a spell which bound them, a spell which seemed to have arrested Thomas' breath in his chest and stopped his heart there beside it, but the breath left on a sigh and the beating of the heart became a steady rhythm as James rose his bare arms and put them protectively around the darling woman who loved him.

"It's all right," James muttered, and again; "it's all right, I'll return soon enough," in his gruff and pained voice and the woman uttered some words too low for her husband's ears, but the man chuckled. "I know," he said, and she spoke again. "Well, what do you want, then?" A wide, boyish smile spread over James' face and it seemed to be shining with a fire from within. "A cask of rum. You're a treasure, but I will – and I'll teach you to drink it too, unflinchingly." Miranda wriggled from head to toe and laughed like a little girl before claiming James' lips in sweet, short kisses which left them breathless and in laughter.

Thomas hadn't noticed before how densely freckled James' arms were; he was more used to seeing the underside of them, and there were but a few, and before he came to know the man intimately he'd thought that it was the colour of his skin, but he could see now, with James' arms around the cream coloured dress of the woman, that they were only freckles, and finely contrasted against his skin and the dress. How had he not realised what pretty arms the man had before now, so close to their separation? James' strong arms held Miranda safely on his lap although their position on the chair was rather precarious and Thomas couldn't tear his eyes from them.

James muttered something unintelligible and Miranda collapsed in giggles atop him. Thomas mounted the courage, then, to rise from his chair and drape his long arms around his wife and press himself against the length of her slim back. He let his chin settle on a gentle shoulder where so much responsibility already sat, and gazed into the eyes of the man that he loved.

"Hello," that man whispered, and in his eyes Thomas thought he saw that he loved him too.

"Hello," Thomas returned, rose a hand to stroke the length of a stubbled cheek, traced a thumb along the crease beside an often kissed mouth, pulled a cherished bottom lip down in an adored pout. "Is it fair that he is to leave us so soon, my love?"

"It is not fair that he must leave at all, dear husband," returned the wife.

"Yet he must leave," the accused muttered, "for your sake, he must." As if of one mind, man and wife leaned in to kiss the man at the same time. In the confusion that followed, James kissed the wife and put his hand to the man's face, gently telling him to wait for his turn, mirth lacing generously in the gesture.

"But you will stay for the night?" Thomas asked when it was his turn, and he pressed his lips to James' before he could answer. Oh, how could sweetness taste so bitterly? But yes, yes he would stay until morning came and the last preparations for his journey were to keep him occupied until the last.

So James rose, it seemed, without effort despite having gathered Miranda, complaining loudly, in his arms, and Thomas left the room before them, in case. In the hallways Miranda's complaining became low growling in the Lieutenant's ear, but he carried her all the way to the bedroom, and Thomas found it beyond endearing, even when the man dropped Miranda unceremoniously onto the bed only to hear her curses.

"There is a special place in Hell for men like you," she said, putting on a most impressive mask of a woman spurned.

"Yes," James conceded, "a special place where the Devil lets us continue on with the debauchery performed on earth which put us there in the first place. I look forward to it with great anticipation." Thomas, finding himself in quiet agreement, stopped his own laughter by biting into James' neck from behind, pulled him quite forcefully against himself until James squirmed and his feet didn't reach the floor.

"Perhaps we should tie him to the bed and never let him leave," Thomas suggested when James was safely back on his own two feet.

"You wouldn't know to tie a sufficient knot," James huffed with flushed cheeks.

They did not, but at that point none of them could be bothered to care or remedy it. When they went to sleep, there was an unspoken agreement to keep James in the middle so the Hamiltons might both take advantage of what little time remained for them, and even thought James fell asleep right away – it was a skill man and wife admired, having always had trouble with lying awake far into the night for no reason themselves – they whispered to each other across his warm and twitching body, looked at and caressed his sleeping form in the light of the candle until the night was at its darkest and they could no longer force themselves to stay awake, even for him.

*

James rose early, not caring that he roused his bedpartners, knowing that they would mourn every lost minute.

"Do you have to go already?" Miranda complained around a yawn, staring openly as James flitted about to locate his clothing in the nude. Thomas indulged as well, with even more hunger and despair.

"What could I possibly say to Hennessey if I turn up late?" James groused, halfway through his shirt. "Sorry, sir, I was fucking the Lord and Lady – you know, those demanding persons you assigned me to help out of the gutter?" Thomas threw his pillow at him, regretting it immediately as it resulted in the loss of his pillow.

However much the Hamiltons begged, and however much he ached to, James could not be persuaded to stay for breakfast, and it was much to early for them to take theirs anyway; no, he would not have it. So the Hamiltons ventured into the cold air of the room and surrounded the Lieutenant so they could hold him one last time before he left, and they stayed there, trading kisses, for as long as he permitted it.

"God's speed, James, and take care," Miranda said, kissing him farewell as if it was to be forever. Thomas could only nod his agreement and kiss him too – would not stop kissing him until even Miranda began pulling him away. Then James sent them a longing glance and slipped from the room into the chill September morning air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somebody stepped on my glasses and broke them today... That was sad. Otherwise work is really cool so that's good. I'm sorry there wasn't a note last time, I was just really busy!
> 
> I hope this was a nice and sad goodbye, would love to hear your thoughts on it!
> 
> Thank you so much for staying with me - we're almost there now!


	33. Chapter Thirty-Two

Somehow Thomas had always managed to convey an outer expression of unbreakable self-confidence. And he did admit that in some things he thought himself quite the expert. He hadn't thought that love would be the most difficult thing he would ever experience, certainly not after being a loving husband for so many years. However, he now found himself twisting his ring around his finger anxiously, standing quite still outside James' chambers. The Lieutenant would be leaving in the morning and he would be gone for at least three months. If he weren't shipwrecked.

Thomas shook himself from such thoughts and rose his hand to knock on the good man's door. He didn't knock. He tried again, and only upon summoning his courage for the third time did his knuckles connect with the wood. A chair scraped against the floorboards inside the room, and Thomas noted how easy it was to hear it from the hallway.

James' heavy steps moved closer, then his shaggy head peeked outside. Finding Thomas on his threshold, he startled but opened the door wider to let him in, looked left and right down the hall, then closed the door on them.

"Hello," Thomas whispered, and James answered the same, but with that dark, rumbling voice of his that sent shivers down Thomas' spine and made his hair stand on his arms. The thought of that voice directly in his ear as a low humming was enough to put him in a state of arousal on those few nights he slept alone.

James was bare-chested but wore a ragged knitted quilt over his shoulders and Thomas noted that his hair, which hung in part over his mighty chest, had grown notably longer; it could now entirely cover his nipples.

"I couldn't let you leave -" Thomas started, and shuffled. "I wasn't quite ready to say goodbye. And I wondered - perhaps we should dare take the risk of me spending the night with you? I know that it is dangerous, but you're to be away for three months and at the end of that time all will be forgotten. Men have short memories."

James remained silent, but took the bag from Thomas' shoulder and put it gently on the floor before reaching onto the tips of his toes to steal a tender kiss with dry lips. Thomas would never let such an opportunity escape him. He circled his arms around James' naked hips and pulled him close, supporting his weight although he was heavy in his arms. Their mouths locked in warm kisses and shifted against each other more languidly than they had for a while. It was slow and deep and affectionate, with only an underlaying feeling of silent desperation.

"It gets cold here during the night."

"We will have each other to keep warm."

Thomas watched in silence as James made the last of his preparations. He laid tomorrow's clothing perfectly folded on a spindly chair with his hat, dusted, on top of the pile, and shiny boots by the chair's legs. He made notes in a ledger he kept on his little desk, although Thomas hadn't the faintest what he was writing. Perhaps it was a diary. He could easily imagine James keeping a very neat diary with all kinds of information and none of it about his thoughts or his everyday actions. He was a man who cared for utility; his rooms made it very clear. He had only the most necessary; a rather slim bed, one comfortable chair, one desk and that one spindly chair, a foggy looking-glass and a little wardrobe for his two pieces of smallclothes, three breeches and three shirts. What a ridiculous man.

The thought sent Thomas from his perch on the bed to press himself against James' back where he was looking at his perfectly neat desk, probably searching for a single stray grain of dust. James relaxed against Thomas' front when his arms came around him and let his head fall back onto Thomas' shoulder.

"You're ridiculous," Thomas told him. James covered his hands with his own and hummed. Thomas brushed their cheeks together then kissed James' temple. "I have something for you, if you're quite done trying to set your own furniture on fire with the power of your eyes."

"Do you think I could do it if I stare long enough?" James asked in all seriousness.

"Probably." James turned in his arms and slung his own about Thomas' neck. He leaned in to kiss again, his eyes falling closed. Thomas stopped him. "After I show you what I brought, perhaps." James grumbled but let Thomas pull away to crouch on the floor by his bag and fish something out of it. Something wrapped in gold and with a red bow about it. "A gift." It was all he managed. He had planned something of a speech; a gift, something to remind you of me - or, to give you courage - or, ... the words got lost somewhere between his mind and his mouth, so he simply gave it James to unwrap with all the care of a mother with her babe.

A dark red leather-bound book was uncovered, and James drew in a breath at the sight of the beautifully crafted edition. On the spine the words 'Marcus Aurelius, Meditations' were painted in golden letters.

"Open it," Thomas encouraged, but rolled his eyes when James flopped it open on a random page and caressed the thin leaves of paper reverently. "On the first page, silly." James glared at him, but didn't manage to show any of his usual pretended malice.

James sunk into his chair at the sight of the book's very first page where Thomas had used utmost care to write a message to him. With his most dramatic and magnificent script - for he knew James liked it - he had written;

_James_

_My truest love,_

_Know no shame._

_T.H._

James sat perfectly still with his fingers caressing the inscription on the page like a thing most precious. Only James' shaking breath disturbed the perfect silence in the room. Thomas, at a loss of what to do and surprised by the sheer force of James' reaction, dared not move a finger as he looked at James, who seemed lost to this world.

When James looked up at last it seemed a disbelieving plea for explanation.

"I love you," Thomas said, noting how his voice had gone thick, "more than anything." James nodded and forced a swallow. With the book still in hand, James took Thomas by the hand with his free one and guided him to the bed. James laid down first, and when Thomas joined him on his side James crawled into the crook where his shoulder met neck and buried his face there with the book clutched against his chest.

Thomas felt they lay there in silence for hours as he listened to James get control of his breathing. He felt tremors run down James' strong back now and then, and when he did he only clutched him tighter. Like this, in his own bed, the scent of James was overwhelming and Thomas had severely underestimated the effect it would have on him. Although the mattress was hard and the bedclothes itchy, it was an interesting and welcome change from Thomas' own, luxurious condition. He wanted to be a part of James' life in whatever form it took, and this was one of them. He would care nothing for circumstance, so long as he had James there with him.

At last James stilled, and it wasn't long before he found the courage to speak. "I can't possibly be ashamed of loving you. It is without a doubt the best thing that I have done in my life, the purest, the truest thing that I have ever done. In a life full of sin, because there is sin, this takes no part in it. This is Good."

*

Thomas was alone in the uncomfortable bed in the morning. It was light outside for it had ceased raining, and James was staring gravely out the window. He must've risen early from anxiety, and was now contemplating what was to come; Thomas could tell by the way his jaw was twitching. Thomas rose silently from the bed, walking with slow steps across the room. When he reached James, he leaned against the wall beside the window so he could look at him. Even like this, with an expression so troubled, James was magnificent, and no matter how many times he saw him, he could not stop the smile that crept its way to his lips at the sight and commandeered his face. Knowing that James was his and he was James', after all those months of worry and uncertainty, was almost too much.

He leaned in against James, trying to convince him to let thoughts of the future stay away for another few hours. He put their foreheads together softly, closed his eyes at the onslaught of feeling brought by such tender affection between them.

James took Thomas' hands in his and stroked the back of them with his thumbs.

"Oh James, my darling James, think not of what is to come, or you will spoil our last moments together."

"You know there is no hope of that," murmured James in return.

"Maybe you will let me read for you, then." His voice was hushed, gentle in his pretended easiness, but there was a heavy lump in his throat. James nodded but didn't let go of his hands; clung to desperately, nudged him a bit closer, bumped their noses together and produced a hitched chuckle. "Kiss me."

"Only if you ask nicely."

"Please kiss me; there is nothing I desire more in this moment." So James kissed him without hurry or trepidation, kissed him as if it was the most natural thing he could do, kissed him as easily as if he was tying the laces of his breeches or buttoning his coat, and yet it was so much more than that. "Come back to bed with me, let me read for you." Thomas read with James on his chest, and kept reading with James between his thighs, but laid the book aside when James had him, marked him with bruises on his hips from his fingers and bruises on his neck from his lips, and yet his movements were slow and thorough, driving them steadily toward their pleasure with every deep, unhurried thrust, and every circling of his hips.

James covered his mouth as Thomas came, lest the neighbours hear them, and bit his own lip when he came too.

Thomas found again the Emperor's book and continued reading the Emperor's words as James washed him, then himself much more thoroughly, for he would spend weeks and weeks at sea. He glanced at James as he stood completely nude in the centre of his room, readying himself for dressing, making sure that he would not forget anything at all. Thomas never halted when his eyes strayed. He knew the Emperor's words very well.

"If any man despises me, that is his problem. My only concern is not doing or saying anything deserving of contempt." James dressed with a chuckle and a fond, knowing smile Thomas' way. He had both smallclothes and breeches on when he slumped on the edge of the bed with his shirt in his lap. His hair was pulled back in a neat cue with that handsome blue bow that went so nicely with his hair. His freckled shoulders were on display, his wide back became the sky on a cloudless winter night.

"How should you be?" Thomas read, and met James' eye over his shoulder, smiling, "You should be like the rocky promontory against which the restless surf continually pounds. It stands fast while the churning sea is lulled to sleep at its feet. I hear you say, 'how unlucky that this should happen to me'. But not at all. Perhaps say instead, 'how lucky I am that I am not broken by what has happened and I'm not afraid of what is about to happen' for the same blow might have struck anyone, but not many who would have absorbed it without capitulation or complaint."

James found the strength again to rise and dress in his shirt and his cravat, his waistcoat and sword, his coat.

"Half an hour," he whispered.

"Then let me have you. I promise I will not soil your clothes." Then Thomas had James in his uniform. "That you might think of me every time you catch a glimpse of yourself in a glass, and every time you dress." James didn't need much preparation, he was decidedly better at taking it than Thomas was. "And that you might think of me every time you feel the phantom throb of me inside you."

"It's almost as if you fear I might forget you," James murmured after, bringing their lips together. "It's almost as if you think your face is not what I see whenever I close my eyes, or hear your voice of reason when it is sorely needed." James rearranged his clothing and stepped into his shoes. His bag was waiting by the door.

Thomas claimed James' lips with a desperation he hadn't thought himself capable of. All the worry he had put to the back of his mind the last few days poured from his mouth and he would not let James go even when he had no air left in his lungs to sustain him.

"God - Thomas, stop or I will never be able to leave!" James cried, and he could just as well have been asking for mercy. James picked his bag and went to the door. He plucked a key from his desk. "Lock when you leave. Be careful so no one sees you." 

"Take care, James. Do take care."

"And you, my Lord. Farewell, for now."

"I love you."

"And I you." Thomas pressed a last kiss to his lips, then James pulled away and slipped into the corridor.

Thomas spent an hour in James' bed, resisting the need to weep for the loss of his love, and yet the longer he lay, the more fragile he felt and the harder it was to find the strength to rise, but he did at last find it. He changed his clothing, for he'd brought fresh ones in his satchel, then he slithered from James' chambers, locking the door behind him and made certain that he was not seen.

It was not before later that he realised he'd forgotten his shirt, lying as proof of their love on James' bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) :) :)
> 
> So yeah, he's gone now. I had to give you a kind of little treat though because you've all been so wonderfully nice to me all the way, and I mean... Thomas has no self control at all when James is involved :)
> 
> xx


	34. Chapter Thirty-Three

It was not so hard, in the beginning, when there was a pause in his discussions with Peter where he knew James would have said something, because he could hear the man's voice in his head and the words he would've said. It was as if he was still there with them, not miles away at sea. But it wasn't long until he forgot the cadence of James' voice, or the exact expression he would wear as he spoke; it happened much more quickly than he thought it would. He realised that he hadn't known James for very long at all - how had it come to pass that his world seemed to revolve around him?

But Thomas managed to hold his focus. He had been distracted before, and was well-versed in how to hide it from the unfamiliar eye; Peter seemed not to have noticed overly much, but then he was rather intent on their work in securing allies. Thomas had to admit that since James left they had become more effective. He blamed himself for that - he had let himself be distracted - but now they made up for it. With his renewed vigour, they were more persuasive, and brought several times other people to partake in their discussions, people who were now undoubtedly with them.

Nathaniel was still not among them. The very day after James sailed away, Thomas had received word that the wife was dead, and later he had attended the funeral. Nathaniel's grief almost consumed them both, and only Miranda could, slowly but surely, pull Thomas from that abyss. What if James' ship wrecked in a storm? What if he was set upon by pirates?

"What if the Governor won't let him leave, so that we mightn't take his position from him? James spoke of the advantage they would have in a fight, what with that fort!"

"And he also spoke about ways to counter it!" Miranda was more optimistic than he was, although he worried that she was strong because he could not, and one of them must be.

But the ache of missing James grew stronger every lonely night, and when he found Miranda's drawings of them, he almost spiralled too quickly for her to help him. Peter noticed, then.

"What do you say, should I bring Abigail and Elizabeth tomorrow? I don't think it will rain; perhaps she would like to play in the leaves in the garden. It is larger than ours, you know."

Abigail flung herself into his arms, a luxury he shared only with Peter and Nathaniel. When he spun her round, clutching her in his arms, he could forget his unhappiness for a moment. She was a truly sweet and kind child, with big, trusting eyes that seemed wise beyond her years. Thomas could only dream of fathering one such.

With clothing to fit the season, Thomas and Peter took the little girl outside beneath the sun to play in the leaves that had been all put in a large heap for this exact purpose. It became a war, Thomas and Abigail against Peter, and they threw leaves at each other until they had no breath left in them, so Thomas, in one last desperate attempt, picked Abigail up and threw _her_. Peter caught her effortlessly, and fell with her to the ground in pretend, then let her straddle him and claim victory. With leaves in their hair and dirt under their fingernails, the party joined the tightly wrapped women taking their tea on the veranda. Elizabeth scolded them for treating her girl so poorly, but Abigail only giggled and Thomas knew that she was not the least angry with them.

After taking their tea as well, Thomas and Peter withdrew to the study while the ladies entertained each other.

"I think we should approach Lord T- next. It surprises me that my father hasn't yet tried to speak with him, and we should have done so long ago."

"What will appeal to him?" Together they formulated a plan of approach, first toward him, then Lord K-.

"We will go to Lord L- on Monday, and K- on Tuesday; we have no time to lose." There was a pause and Peter nodded his agreement. Thomas finally dared ask. "Has the Lieutenant arrived in Nassau yet, do you think?"

"It's very hard to say; he's been away a bit over a month? It is unlikely."

Sunday afternoon, Thomas got the following note from Peter: _I'll go to K- while you go to L-; we haven't any time to lose._

He was confident when knocking on Lord L-'s door; he had a strong case and much to offer the man, if he only let him speak. He'd hardly entered before the man laughed in his face.

"Thomas Hamilton!" he chuckled. "You father warned me about this; he was here just this morning, actually. He's a fine man." However much he tried to speak him around, the idiot smile on the man's face never left, and Thomas knew that he heard but he didn't listen.

Peter was just minutes later than him and arrived with bad news as well; Lord K- had refused them too.

"He was there!" Thomas roared. "My father was there _this bloody morning_!" He banged his fist on the table so hard a glass fell to the floor and shattered. "He knew I was going there and he mocked me! _How the fuck did he know_?!" Peter was grey in the face, pulled away from him in horror.

"Thomas," Miranda mumbled. He hadn't even heard her enter. "I just heard; it's all over the streets - Dunster is a Catholic."

"Fuck. That is just what we needed! This is my father's doing, I know it! He must've figured out somehow!"

"Thomas! Goodness, darling, _calm yourself_!" Thomas didn't want to calm himself, he wanted to roar and throw things. It wasn't like him, but James was gone and everything was going against them, he didn't know where to turn next -

Thomas slumped into a chair with a hand covering his face. "I'm sorry. Forgive me."

Miranda became increasingly pensive. A chill came, sudden and sharp, halfway through October and the accompanying downpour permitted little in the way of outdoor excursions. Thomas permitted himself to take evenings from his work so they might partake in balls and dinners with London's high society, but they became uncomfortable affairs and seemed to have the opposite effect. The rumours of Miranda and James were all about the city and her friends had grown scolding, or distant, or prying for information about the Lieutenant' physicality in a very subtle yet intruding manner.

Thomas, for his part, found himself becoming intolerably jealous. They seemed not to be the only ones who had taken a liking to James, and those who hadn't seen him in person had heard rumours of the uncouth man, his rough countenance and lowly station only becoming a thing to admire because Lady Miranda Hamilton had had him. Thomas envied the way they spoke of him, so openly talking of his handsome features and impressive physique when he himself could express no such fancy for fear of sending the very man to the gallows.

Then invitations became scarce; not even Miranda's friends invited her for tea as they before had done often - she had been so admired for her good taste and impressive conversation, she had been the envy of every lady in the city. When they lay together she rarely spoke, and said nothing of personal troubles. 

She distanced herself from her husband and occupied with his work, and his worries for James always at the forefront of his mind, Thomas hadn't the presence of mind to think of ways to console her, and her agony became his as it grew worse every day she tried to pretend that it wasn't there. It was as if a constant scream tormented every silence, drifting always toward them from the back of the house, and yet they knew not what to do with it; could only pretend that it didn't turn their stomachs and kept them awake at night.

Every morning he awoke cold and lonely and the scream never stopped, persisted even when Miranda did everything in her power to pull him from the disagreeable humour that was always upon him.

Oh, he had thought himself on top of the world before, but words would never convince those who didn't care to listen and no one seemed to care to listen. No - he had no right to be so harsh, for they had managed to gather support even after Dunster's fall. Peter had feared that they might be charged by association - Dunster having always been a dear ally to them both in Parliament matters - but it was not so, thank heavens. Thomas had visited him and told him that he thought no worse of him for being a Catholic, and that weren't he in such a perilous political situation, he would certainly stand by him and protect him where he could, but however true they might be, they were just words, and Thomas knew he could not stand by Dunster now or he would lose everything. The man thanked him none the less, and they parted on civil, if not friendly, terms.

Then they received word that Baron John Somers had spoken in his father's favour. Thomas couldn't fathom why his father went to Somers, of all people, as his resentment of that man was even more pronounced than his resentment for Thomas had ever been.

"You father said he would never let your proposal come to a vote, I do believe he meant it!" Peter growled. He'd grown ever more intent to see their dreams come reality since their loss of support, and it was admirable, but Thomas well understood because he, too, felt the need to prove himself, although he was now, again, starting to lose his energy.

"Tell me what chance this has of success, be honest," he begged, and he heard himself almost defeated. He couldn't quite look Peter in the eye.

"Ultimately there is tremendous support for every part of the package. This entire battle is being waged over the pardon provision, without it I can get it passed in a matter of hours." It wasn't the first time Peter said something of the like, and Thomas had almost started growing suspicious whether he truly cared about the moral high-ground of the proposal at all.

"The rest of it is meaningless without the pardons! They're the only hope for redeeming Nassau!" Thomas argued, like so many times before.

"I know, which is why we'll keep on fighting. I know your father is a formidable advisory - so am I!" Thomas knew this. Peter had worked incredibly hard to see this through and he knew he would never have been able to get this far without him. Then Peter peered over his shoulder, making Thomas turn. Miranda stood there, looking strangely timid, twisting her hands.

"What is it?" Thomas inquired, slightly bothered at the interruption.

"A moment please." She gestured, sounding more at ease than she looked, and he knew that it was for Peter's sake. He looked at Peter, who only waved him away somewhat grimly and with a glass in his hand. When he followed her out of hearing distance, she said carefully; "I'm going to make arrangements to leave for the country."

"Leave? Leave when?" She turned to look at him, so earnest and decided. 

With an air of finality, she said; "Now. Tonight."

"May I ask why?" Miranda wasn't usually so quick to turn around, although when the fancy struck her she could be admirably swift to see herself satisfied. He had always liked that with her.

"This fight with your father - the more public it gets, the more visible it gets, the greater the liability would I be for you," she admitted, in her reasonable way, as if this was her way of protecting him. As if he needed protection.

"Liability? How could you possibly believe -"

"The Lieutenant's ship arrived this morning," she interrupted, and his heart was arrested in his chest, "returned from the Bahama islands. I received word not long ago. The rumours about me and my relationship with him have gone quite the past few months he's been away, and I'm concerned that when he returns people will start whispering again."

"Let them whisper," Thomas said, carelessly. He would not be bothered with others, when the prospect of his renewed happiness was so close at hand. He would not let it be dulled by Miranda's absence when he could at last have the two people he cherished the most in all the world together with him again, both, with him and with each other. He knew she had missed James too.

"It's not the rumours that concern me, it's the scrutiny that follows that, and what that scrutiny might unearth." Her voice was a bare whisper at the end, and her face was expressionless although with her eyes she seemed to try and convey a message she would not want to voice aloud.

"So someone might discover you and he shared a bed," Thomas admitted, but saw not what it was that had Miranda so worried she would leave the city and go into hiding. It was not like her.

"I'm concerned they might dig past that and discover something... far more damaging than that." She looked him in the eyes at last, placing a firm hand on his chest. His jaw worked tensely as he swallowed his anger, not at her, certainly, but the world that they live in, that they must be so careful.

"I don't want you to go."

"I have to, at least for a little while."

"Then wait at least until tomorrow, so that -" He didn't need to say more, and he couldn't, not with the room full of servants, Peter right behind them... She gave in, although she did not seem to like it. "But after Christmas, surely it must be safe to return. We'll spend the week with my sister - did I tell you her reply came yesterday? She accused me of being very late, and that had I waited another day to ask, she would have refused me, only that the boys were so happy when they heard we might join them that she hadn't the heart to complain. I'll leave in four days and we'll meet at her estate the twenty-second, that was the plan." Miranda nodded, gripped his hand. Then the Lieutenant's arrival was announced.

Thomas thought he might suffocate as he turned toward the door. The air in the room seemed too thin to keep him alive, his head spun at the mere thought that in a few seconds he would actually _see_ -

"He returns at last! It's good to have you back, Lieutenant."

"Sir." James - right there in his parlour, _with a beard_! - shook hands with Peter as if nothing had happened, as if he'd been there with them just yesterday.

"Welcome home," Miranda smiled, having floated quickly toward him. James kissed her hand affectionately, and she drew back a little, making way for Thomas, who felt as if his feet had turned to lead, and yet - he strode toward James with confident steps, and the clicking of his boots was ringing loudly in his ears. Then he stretched out his hand, and James took it in his own, more calloused than before, rough and hard and wet and cold against his as if the saltwater still clung to him. It did, Thomas could smell it on his jacket.

"Three months," he said determinedly, perhaps louder than necessary but he had to force his voice not to appear breathy in the company. "Feels like twice as long." That admission, he could not hide. His eyes, he could not force from James, the bottle green of his eyes, the stark, clear red of his beard so evident on his face. James looked a harder man than he was when he left, and Thomas thought that for the first time the man looked his age. He was even more handsome than Thomas could remember and the restraint it took not to scoop him up in his arms was surely more than he had ever had to exercise before. "Our campaign against my father and Whitehall has reached a most critical stage. If you were able to secure the support of the Royal Governor in Nassau it might just be thing that turns the tide in our favour!" James - he noticed first now that while James seemed just as enthralled to see him, had that worried crease between his eyebrows, and he looked even sterner now than before with the downturn of his moustache and his slightly gaunt features.

"There is no Governor in Nassau," James admitted.

"What do you mean?" Peter approached warily, considering James with hard eyes.

"I understand the dispute arose over a bribe. Money that Governor Thompson felt he was owed by a particular pirate captain. That captain recruited others and they demanded the Governor leave the island at once. Thompson refused, at which point a dozen armed men broke into his home, dragged his wife and nine-year-old son out into the street and slit their throats." This was - Thomas turned away, let them not see his face, and slumped into a chair for his feet could not hold him. "They let him live, so I'm told, so he would tell the tale, and so that there would be no misunderstanding about who is running Nassau now."

"Stupid fuckers," Peter growled, pacing the floor, and Thomas wished he could just _stop, leave, go away so he might think_!

"By the time I left, men were beginning to occupy the fort. Had I stayed another day I'm not sure they would have let me leave with my ship. But what is clear is this; right now there's no law in Nassau." All hope; lost, everything they had worked for; in vain. Miranda walked over and placed consolidating hands on Thomas' shoulders, being his strength when he could not.

"I'm trying to imagine standing up before the Lords and suggesting pardons for these people. I'm having a difficult time of it."

"The men responsible of this crime deserve to be punished," Thomas said, hardly able to understand how he managed to speak and sound so calm when there was a storm raging inside him and tearing at his bones. "But we cannot, we must not allow their actions to condemn the rest!"

"As a matter of political _reality_ , our plan is dead," Peter urged, sounding annoyed at Thomas' naivety.

"Not necessarily," James said, meeting Peter' eyes. Had he ever sounded so soft of voice in the company of others?

"Beg your pardon?"

"The Navy hasn't made its case yet." James licked his lips, looking intently at Thomas, promising him that _I will fix this_.

"The Navy isn't going to make a case! The Navy will do whatever Parliament tells it to do," Peter said, as if correcting a schoolboy.

"We're in a time of war. If the Sea Lords were to recommend a change of strategy, who would ignore them?"

"The war has got nothing to do with it!" And that - that was in stark contrast to what Peter had said, months earlier, when he had asked James about this exactly.

"Doesn't it? Isn't a lawless Nassau a weakness that Spain could exploit?" Peter seemed to look to Thomas for help in convincing the Lieutenant that his idea was ludicrous, but Thomas payed him no mind. He rose, approaching James again, urgently. _Tell me this can work_.

"How would you do it?" Peter scoffed, turning away from them. Thomas hardly heard him.

"By offering our plan directly to the Sea Lords. Making our case to them."

"They'd hear you?"

"Yes, I think they would." The conviction in James' voice was final. Thomas could see it in his eyes; they would not give up just yet.

"Ahem, Lieutenant? May I speak with you in private, please? Now?" Miranda sounded urgent, so James cast Thomas a last, longing glance, before walking out of the room with her.

"This is madness, Thomas, worse - this is - this is impossible!" Peter growled from his seat.

"We have to try. I will not let our efforts go to waste, not when I have invested so much to see this done, to help people who are in need of it!"

"You father will ruin you! Do you think he has any restraints when it comes to this? He will do anything short of putting you in your grave himself! Do you think he cares what happens to Miranda or the Lieutenant in the crossfire? I know they are dear to you; would you risk them, only to - what, spite your father?! This is a matter of pride for him and nothing more, I beg you - Thomas, listen to me and let yourself walk away from this unscathed! It might be your last chance!"

"Why are you so eager to give up now, when we're so close to victory? Have you forgotten our purpose? Because I have not. I will always strive to do what is right, to protect those who need it from men more powerful than them, men who use their power to terrorise, to hurt, only to gain more for themselves, riches they have no need of. My father is one such and we need to protect the world from people like him. He would burn Nassau to the ground in a heartbeat if it would benefit him!"

"Have you no thought for the risks against yourself and your loved ones? Have you even considered what might happen to you if you should lose?" The Lieutenant returned, alone.

"I will go to the Admiral tomorrow, and I will tell him of our plan, hear his council." Peter nodded sharply, then bid them goodbye and stalked from the room.

"He isn't happy," Thomas noted.

"Neither is Miranda." Thomas' fingers itched, so he looked pointedly toward his study and they left the room together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even notice the days go by, suddenly I'm almost two days late with no idea how that happened!
> 
> I know this is mean, but I hope the next chapter will be satisfying enough to make up for this cliffhanger! Poor Thomas hasn't even been able to process James being back again poor thing.


	35. Chapter Thirty-Four

Thomas knew only the tang of the sea as it enveloped him, but could the sea ever be so warm? And that dark flowing hair, unnatural in colour as if some creature of the depths had come to lure him into his cave and there imprison him. In that harsh, salty smell, Thomas could breathe freely at last, but how could that be when he felt that he was drowning? Was the seawater already muddling with his idea of reality?

He trembled as he brought his arms around the personification of his depression and the light returned to his life. How long he clung with desperation to that rocky promontory he didn’t know, but his arms only held tighter, more insistently, fearing more and more to have to let go every time he thought about it. How was it he felt free at last, when so completely captured and held fast in another’s unrelenting arms?

“What agony I have been in,” he whispered at last, when his throat first let him. “Every day, every night as I have laid awake, I have thought of you and it has turned me mad, considering the dangers you might have had to face because of me, the harm that might come to you.” His trembling fingers found James’ rough face, the skin there dirty with salt and sweat. Thomas brought their foreheads together just as he brought their entire lengths together, almost brought them out of balance. “When you left you brought part of me with you and I have felt the ache of it like the phantom throb of a missing limb. And now that you are here – I hardly know what to do but hold you in my arms so that I might assure myself that this is not my imagination and that you are truly here, safe again and with me.”

“Then hold me,” James whispered thickly and claimed Thomas’ lips with his own chapped and ruined ones. “I love you,” James muttered, and kissed him again. “I love you, I love you, I love –” James seemed to draw breath as if it was something painful travelling from his lungs and cutting him from the inside. His fingers dug sharply into Thomas’ back as if assuring himself that he was there, too. “I thought of all the times I didn’t dare tell you, and I thought – if something happened, if I never had the chance again to tell you –” Oh, Thomas couldn’t listen to such broken words.

“You told me every day I have known you. You told me with your eyes, and your hands, and your lips.” And James told him, then, with his eyes and his hands and his lips, and the world could be burning to mere ashes around them, the house could crumble above their heads and Thomas would not have paid the destruction any mind. How could he, when that Lieutenant, so sweet, was kissing him with the sharp taste of the sea on his lips the sharp tang of the sea he brought with him – the whiff of freedom, of other places, a life beyond this suffering. Thomas clung to that hope, let himself be devoured by it the way James now devoured him.

Curious fingers explored James’ beard, hollow cheek pressed against it to feel the coarseness of it. How had he become so slight? Had he taken the time to eat these past months? He felt so fragile in James’ bulging arms, a leaf in the wind, swept haphazardly without direction nor end.

His eyes were brimming with unshed tears as he pulled away from James at last, his fingers played absent-mindedly with that strange beard as he held well-known eyes with no intention of looking elsewhere.

“I hope it wasn’t too much of a surprise to see me like this. I hope you recognised me without disappointment that I’m not exactly the one who left.”

“I would love you however you look, however you might have grown. You will always remain you, and I love you.” Thomas looked at his fingers, then, smiled faintly at his work. “Look at yourself.” Thomas followed James to the desk where he found a looking glass and put it in front of them. James smiled too, chuckled with pretended exasperation. “You look positively villainous, it seems Nassau has corrupted you.” James grinned wolfishly, twisted his moustache further until it properly twirled upward and winked at Thomas in the glass, then turned and claimed his lips again. “I will never understand how you manage to look so ridiculous and so fetching all at the same time!”

“I bet I could make this very fashionable.” Thomas was not willing to bet against him in this, so he kissed him again instead.

“I could smell you the moment you entered this part of the city, should I have a bath drawn for you in my chambers?”

“Would you join me?”

“No; I have some urgent letters to write, but I will come to you as soon as I can.” James sighed.

“Have the bath drawn, then; I do feel rather dirty, but please hurry.” Thomas gave the order and found his seat behind his desk, where James joined him on his left thigh so that he might write and hold around him at the same time. James held the paper in place as Thomas worked, and caressed all along his hairline, dipped his fingers beneath his cravat and rumpled it, leaned in and kissed the top of his head and Thomas could hardly think for the attention.

“I wrote letters to you, sometimes thrice a week, but I knew there was no way I could get them to you before my return; I have them in my chambers – you might read them later if you want to.”

“I would love to,” Thomas whispered, leaned his head on James’ chest, strong and powerful enough for both of them, grounding, _his_. “Come here.” He brought James’ face on a level with his and put their lips together again, because how could he resist when James was here again, loving him still, protecting him and holding him up? How could he resist, when he finally felt whole again? Had he ever truly been whole before James? Had he truly been fully himself?

“You have letters to write,” James muttered, breath feather-light against Thomas’ lips. Thomas hadn’t the power to open his eyes, not when James was so close and he felt so real in his arms.

“Damn the letters,” Thomas muttered and his lips chased James’ again, brushing lightly against them before James pulled away with a chuckle, brushed them together again and pulled away. “Stop teasing, I have missed you for months.” So James caressed his fingers on either side of Thomas’ jaw and pulled him lightly closer, letting their breaths mingle, lips tickle. His tongue reached out and teased Thomas’ bottom lip, nibbled it with his teeth and pulled it down, and delved into him. Thomas opened his mouth, met James with his tongue on his way in, and moaned at the heady feeling of his warmth and the familiarity of it all.

There was a knock at the door and James sprung from Thomas’ lap. Thomas called for the servant, who announced that the bath was drawn. James slipped from the room with a short kiss, and Thomas brought all his attention to his work so that he might finish it as soon as he could possibly manage.

When Thomas could at last enter his own chambers, he couldn’t immediately see James. The tub stood empty, the bed was untouched, the little reading nook in the corner by the window was unoccupied. Then his eyes were drawn to the only source of light in the room; the fireplace where logs were burning, chatting happily as they slowly disintegrated. The fireplace was adorned with Christmas decorations; it was beautiful with that orange glow. It was not that which commanded his attention.

James lay draped over a sheepskin in front of the fireplace, head resting on his arms, his left leg pulled up, putting his rear on display rather deliciously; he was naked as the day he was born and so fresh from the water his skin hadn’t yet dried from the heat of the fire. James shifted, lifted his head from his arms and looked over his own shoulder to fix his dark eyes on Thomas, looking like some creature ascended from Hell to corrupt him. Or recruit him.

“Are you purposefully trying to make me swoon?” Thomas breathed as he felt his mouth water at the sight of his James. The left side of James’ body was glowing in the golden light of the fire while his right side was shroud in the consuming darkness of the room and he seemed both man and beast at once. Thomas hadn’t realised that night was upon them.

Without his specific direction, his feet brought him to James where he collapsed on his knees beside his ankles and tentative fingers reached out to caress that soft, untouched spot on either side of his achilles. James buried his face in the soft sheepskin beneath him, his hair splayed over it, a dark maroon against the stark white wool. James’ skin was hot to the touch, and Thomas let his fingers travel slowly up the length of his calf, tracing patterns in his freckles and tickled the back of his knee. His other hand found the back of James’ other knee, and together his fingers found James’ powerful thighs with touches that were barely there at all and which left completely when they reached the swell of his magnificent, round behind.

Thomas bracketed James’ body with his arms and leaned slowly down over him until he could mouth warmly at the side of James’ neck and visibly making him shudder with surprised delight. Thomas closed his mouth hotly over the flesh of James’ neck, sucked the skin into his mouth, lapped at it with his tongue. In this way he kissed every bump of James’ spine and traced his tongue between them, around them, caressed his fingers down the side of James’ body to trace patterns on the side of James’ behind and these were the only two spots in which they connected, for he carefully held himself above James with his free hand and James himself lay completely still as Thomas let show his appreciation.

There wasn’t an exchange between them as Thomas slowly, achingly slowly travelled down James’ body so far he reached the arch of his back and let his tongue slide further still, finding the beginning of the crease between James’ cheeks which he explored to a chorus of barely audible sighs as James’ breath hitched and his muscles twitched with curiosity at this novelty. Thomas braced his hands on either side of James’ arse now, let his tongue slide further until it was trapped between his cheeks and a line was drawn along the entire length of the man’s spine, but Thomas dipped lower still, set his lips to suck around the end of James’ tailbone.

“Thomas,” James warned. Thomas brought gentle hands to James’ arse, dipped his thumbs between his cheeks and drew them apart slowly. “Thoma – Ah!” He had never done this before, had only heard of it in the vaguest of terms, had never wanted to do it, but then James had put himself over Thomas’ lap one night when he was too tired for anything else, and Thomas had _wanted_. He quickly stretched himself out behind James, lying on his stomach between James’ thighs and put his mouth to the man’s hole just as he would kiss his lips.

James groaned into his arms loudly, hips twitching toward Thomas, who let the tip of his tongue flutter over James’ hole and there was a repeat performance from the man which led Thomas to wonder whether Miranda could hear him from her own chambers across the hall.

“ _Thomas, wha – Ahh_!” Thomas drove his tongue inside deep and James growled, slammed his palm to the floor and writhed in pleasure. James seemed to scramble for purchase on the floor, panting desperately.

“Oh!” Thomas hadn’t even heard Miranda enter. James’ head whipped around, but Thomas pressed him hard back into the sheepskin with a hand between his shoulder blades and pressed his tongue against his hole again, pressed in deeper, harder. James screamed when Thomas pressed a spit-slicked finger inside him and licked around it.

The soft rustle of Miranda’s nightdress fluttered past, then she, too, crumbled to her knees by James’ side.

“Can I – James, would you…” James was already reaching for her, gentled her down in front of him, pushed her thighs open and bunched her skirt about her waist then he buried his face between her legs. Thomas could hear James moan into his wife’s folds, and Miranda whimpered outright. The melange of the two sent Thomas into a frenzy, buried a second finger inside James and tried desperately to get his tongue in between them just as desperately as James ground against him, effectively rubbing himself over Thomas’ face.

Thomas didn’t know what James was doing, but from the sounds issuing from Miranda, he was very successful. Thomas, though, prided himself on the fact that James growled and moaned into her, by his own ministrations, and that when Thomas rose to fetch the oil from beside the bed, James whined in protest.

Whines which were cut short when Thomas pressed three oiled fingers inside him, perhaps with too much force. On his knees now, Thomas saw how James had circled his arms around Miranda and held her tight against his face as one of her hands was fisted in his hair to keep him there.

Thomas fondled awkwardly with his clothing to reach and extract his aching erection. He bothered only with the bottom buttons of his waistcoat and barely pushed his breeches over his behind before slicking himself with the oil and press inside the tight heat of James’ hole. James surfaced from between Miranda’s legs and gasped for breath as he clenched hard around the unexpected girth of Thomas’ cock inside him.

“ _Thomas!_ ” James moaned, “oh God, you feel so good, you feel –” Thomas snapped his hips and James’ back bowed in a beautiful arch. The man struggled to his knees, never letting Thomas slip out completely, and drove himself back against Thomas and the burn of him. “Miranda, Miranda – come!” James' breath hitched as Miranda scrambled to fit herself beneath him, opened her legs for him as he pressed between them and she let her head fall backwards on a moan as he entered her. Thomas slipped out of James, but only pressed him all down and into Miranda then tried again, guiding himself inside James, careless of his ruined clothes.

James thrust into Miranda then, and ground back against Thomas, effectively taking in his entire length. The onslaught of sensation seemed too much; James’ arms failed him, forcing him to ease down onto Miranda’s chest with a whimper, back muscles straining and bunching as if he purposefully put on a display of it for Thomas behind him.

From there James had no leverage, but Thomas was free to fuck into him with all the reckless abandon encouraged by three long months of near celibacy and nothing which could possibly be as stimulating as having _James, his James_ beneath him.

In an embarrassingly short amount of time that white hot sensation began to cumulate in his lower abdomen, setting his strained thighs shaking, bringing his hand to fist in James’ still wet hair and pull him upward against himself so James arched his back again until only the tips of his fingers were brushing the sheepskin. And yet with every thrust, Thomas pushed James back inside Miranda and it seemed to make the man incoherent and Thomas could practically feel that he, too, was dangerously close to his end.

But Miranda came first, winding her leg as best she could about them, writhing and clutching the wool as she keened and brought James with her, making him buck helplessly between them, simply grinding back and forth between the heat surrounding him and the cock filling him. Then Thomas slammed home inside him, gripped James’ hips and pulled him back against every thrust until he filled the man with his seed for the first time in months.

James flopped to the floor with a whimper, curling up against Miranda who put a protective arm around his wide shoulders. Thomas had to remove his clothing before he could consider joining them, bathed in sweat as he was, but he was soon there, on James’ other side, and simply breathed in the silence, too overwhelmed to form a single thought as his arms were full of his dearest ones.

*

James was nudging him awake in the dead of night. Miranda had returned to her own chambers with a smile Thomas thought quite genuine, and he and James had washed quickly in the cold bathwater, then promptly fell asleep in each other’s arms. Thomas couldn’t fathom why he would interrupt their peaceful sleep, but when James saw that he was awake, he put a finger to his lips and slid out of bed in his smallclothes. He pulled a shirt over his head and threw another toward Thomas, then led him toward the servants’ section of the house, silent now.

At the back of the house there was a little door leading to the stables across a small, dirty courtyard. James leaned against the frame of that door and motioned for Thomas to stand on the step below him. Warm arms surrounded him from behind as he did, and James pressed them together with his chin on Thomas’ shoulder.

“Look up.” The moon hung heavy and full above them, but shone with a light so shy the stars were twinkling clearly all about them in the dark winters night. “I think we should go to Nassau. I think you should become Governor. I think we should bring Miranda, and I think we should be the makers of that place.” Thomas chuckled. Oh, he had thought and dreamt, but – how could he do something like that? How could he up and leave everything behind? "You should see that place, Thomas, the potential it has. It is so unformed, and with the right leadership it might become truly great. Do you know what I saw when I visited the brothel – no, I was not there for pleasure, I belong to you and will let no one else have me as you have – there, in the corner, two men were openly holding each other, kissing each other, touching –. Everyone could see them but no one paid them any mind, as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. Perhaps in time, in such a place, we could –” James sighed, squeezed tighter around Thomas.

“I can’t leave everything I know behind. You want me to leave London, to leave my life as I know it?”

“What does this city have to offer you?” _My friends_ , Thomas thought, _my family, something familiar_. But his friends had all left him, or were slowly falling into the abyss, his family – what remained of it – was ashamed of him, or away from him. “We could start again, too. Thomas, think about what you might make that place be!”

“I will think of it.” The wind and cold was biting their cheeks and making their hair stand. Thomas shivered, but James was warm at his back and his arms were holding him tightly. He was soft and hard and a familiar weight, and despite their exposed position, embracing so tenderly, with such obvious affection there could be no doubt about their relationship, he felt safer in James’ arms than he had felt for a very long while.

“There is one thing… we haven’t talked of,” James began uncertainly. “What do we do when this is all over?” _Will you cast me out like a toy that has lost its novelty_?

“We will speak of it after Christmas; Miranda and I are going to my sister’s. But I want to assure you that whatever path we take, I want us to be together in any capacity we can. You are part of my life now, James, and thinking of letting you go, or parting from you again –” He couldn’t speak for the pain it brought him. James kissed his hair again, softly, slowly.

“I can feel it, Thomas. We can do this! When you and I put our strengths together we can do anything at all. There is not a force in the world that can stand against us lest it be God. I have never felt so certain before, I can taste it on the tip of my tongue. We are nearly there, if we just hold out a few weeks more! I know that it is dangerous; Miranda warned me earlier about the risks, but I would never let anything happen you, I would never let you be harmed.”

 _And you_ Thomas thought, _who will protect you from being hurt_? Peter’s warning was ringing in his head and the scream from the back of the house was ringing there with it. He only held James tighter against himself.

They stayed like that until it grew too cold, then returned to the bed with freezing feet and huddled together, entirely naked under the covers, to regain their warmth by pressing close together and rubbing their limbs and naked skin against each other.

*

Slow, languid kisses early in the morning as the sun rose. James’ hair twisting in Thomas’ pale fingers, James bucking and shuddering under the touch of his hand, James’ eager lips between Thomas’ legs, kissing and nibbling his thighs, licking his sac, his erection, swallowing it into his mouth, and only a few minutes before Thomas was shouting his release.

James washed and dressed and kissed his lips before promising to return in the evening with Admiral Hennessey’s council. Not even a goodbye before James was out the door with a great, beaming smile on his lips and his happiness was so infectious Thomas felt it too, and smiled at the sight of his retreating behind.

Miranda joined him for breakfast, for she was only to leave in the afternoon, and they spent a rather enjoyable meal together although he could see that she was still anxious. He did his very best to comfort her, and it was not entirely futile. By the end she was laughing with him as usual and calling him an idiot and everything felt right with the world again. They could do this.

Peter joined them shortly after breakfast and did not again try to dissuade Thomas, but he had a look of resignation on his face. No matter. Peter worked with him despite it and they were discussing what to do next when someone pushed past the servants and bullied themselves into the room.

“Lord Thomas Hamilton?” Ophelia stood, looking apologetic, as the burly man and his companions strode into the room without introduction.

“They wouldn’t wait, sir, I’m sorry, sir,” she said, and excused herself with a curtsy before fleeing the room.

“I am he,” Thomas said, turning from Peter to look at the intruders. “May I ask why you so rudely push your way into my house?”

“This is Lord _Alfred_ Hamilton’s house, isn’t it?” one of the men asked, looking rather gleeful.

“Oh,” Thomas nodded, understanding. “You’re my father’s men. What does he want? A display of power before all the servants? Hardly his usual way, but I suppose desperate times calls for desperate measures.” The man’s eyes grew meaner.

“Not quite. We’re here to inform you that you wife has been… sharing a bed with your liaison to the Admiralty, James McGraw. Shameful, truly.” Thomas’ face blanched and he felt his palms grow sweaty as he resisted twisting the ring around his finger nervously.

“Why are you here?” he demanded in as steady a voice as he could muster. Mirada gripped his arm from behind with both her small hands and clenched at him.

“Come with us, if you please.”

“No.”

“Come with us, calmly, plea –”

“Why? Where would you bring me? Couldn’t my father bother coming all this way – has he grown so lazy that he has his lapdogs bring him visitors?” Who were they, thinking they could speak so to him in his own house? All of a sudden Thomas was bristling with anger.

“Not to your father. We’re to escort you to Bethlem Royal Hospital, after hearing of your collapse upon receiving the news of your traitorous wife and the Judas you seem to have made a friend.” Then a man took hold of his shoulder and yanked him forward so hard he only just managed to keep his feet and catch Miranda’s delicate fingers.

“No! You have no right to pull me from –”

“We have every right!” Miranda’s fingers slipped from his. “The Lady will be out of this house by nightfall, and the Lieutenant will be immediately stripped of all titles. Is he seen in the city again he will swing for his crimes!” Panic seized him and Thomas bucked against his captors.

“James has committed no crime!” he growled and reached out again, feeling the soft brush of his wife’s fingers but unable to turn and look at her.

“It is already done.” Thomas’ world tipped on his axis and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think and he became something less than a man. 

“Let me go! No, don’t – Let! Me! Go!” He wrenched against the arms surrounding him, tried to barrel himself away but it was to no use. Miranda was cursing and begging behind him, but her voice was fading as their fingertips slowly slipped despite every desperate attempt to hold on. Someone pulled at him and Thomas stumbled to the floor, but was quickly hoisted to his feet again and he whirled desperately to get a look of his wife, but saw nothing beyond a wide-backed man. “Miranda! Miranda, take care of each other, whatever you do! Don’t let him do anything stupid! I will be with you again, I’ll come after you!” Then the men set their minds to escorting him from the room and just as he reached the doorway Miranda began screaming – oh, that terrible screaming! – interrupted only by grunts and the sound of flesh on flesh, and Thomas knew that she was fighting a hopeless battle with the anger of a fury. Then she wailed in agony and Thomas thought he could hear the echo of his name bounding through the house. 

Through corridors that were so painfully familiar, Thomas fought needlessly against the strong arms which held him. It was made clear that the Earl did not mean for this to be a temporary scolding to humiliate him, no; he wanted him out of the way for good and in a way that would not harm himself.

“You can’t do this!” he growled and struggled. “You have no right!” His fist connected with flesh and one of the men grunted, then someone fisted his hand in Thomas’ hair and yanked so hard it brought tears to his eyes.

“The fuck do you think,” the man growled into his ear, then he was jostled and pushed and stumbled into a waiting carriage head first, and strung against the wall with heavy chains like some dirty criminal. The door slammed, leaving him alone in the dark interior. 

No matter how hard he tried, the chains held fast and he only bruised his wrists in his efforts, but he could not seem to stop. Where was James? What happened when he went to see Hennessey? Had they truly got to him too, already?

The carriage started off at a punishing pace, bullying its way through the busy streets of London and making people scream after it as it went, but Thomas saw nothing for the windows had been covered. The coachman whipped his horses, driving them so hard Thomas imagined they’d need to change them before reaching the hospital, and still he felt as if the ride lasted for days. Nothing was there to occupy his mind, the bumps in the road not enough to distract him from his destination.

 _Bethlem Royal Hospital_.

No, surely not. There had been rumours that he was mad, but none believed him to have a disease of the mind, not truly. How was his father to explain this sudden change? Mad with grief for a wife whom everyone knew had been sleeping with whomever she liked all through their marriage? Did they think him so naïve that they would believe him – her husband – to be the only one who hadn’t heard? Impossible!

No, his father must be making a statement, would release him after a few weeks upon his ‘recovery’, but ensuring that no one would want association with him – for who would, with a man previously committed to Bedlam? He was ruining his reputation, without which Thomas was nothing. The loss of it would result in the failure of his plan, but Thomas was relieved, at least, to have come to the conclusion that he would not be separated from his wife and his lover for long. Where would they go? They must leave word with Peter for him, so that he might find them easily upon his release.

Thomas found little comfort in the thought. Miranda’s scream resounded in his ears, echoed through the halls of his mind, ominous, filling the dreadful silence of his prisoner’s carriage, booming ever louder as the horses trotted on until he heard nothing, until every sense was consumed by it, pulled into its darkness and held prisoner there for eternity.

 _Wake up_ , she would tell him. _This is not a game any more, your father would not content with a scolding_. How long did he intend to keep him in that place? Thomas felt a cold that had nothing to do with the late December chill.

He hadn’t the time to regain his bearing before the carriage stopped and he was ushered out of it and into the looming hospital, raising so high he couldn’t get a glimpse of the sky above it. Had he seen the sky for the last time already? Why hadn’t he appreciated it?

Even that small trip had him wet through form the rain and it seemed already evening, as if the building itself stole all light around it, keeping itself in an eternal gloom; a dark place for dark minds, somewhere _he_ had no place, no reason to be.

The building swallowed him whole, devoured his body, stole every outward sign of his character and status as he went through its procedures with an apathy he had never before experienced. It took his freedom as it took his clothes, took his right to speak as it washed the sweet perfumes from him with water long gone cold. It took his life as it gave him rags and stole his love as it put him behind bars.

"How did you end up here, then?" the wretched thing in the neighbouring cell asked.

“The rules of fair play do not apply in love and war,” Thomas quoted, for it was the first thing that came to his mind.

“Which brought you here then?”

"Both."

"What's your name, then?"

"I have no name, I am no one." The woman grunted.

“I see why they put you here,” she commented. “You’re a dimwit.”

Goodbyes, the shadow of the bright, handsome, and energetic Lord Thomas Hamilton thought, are not always forever; but the one never uttered aloud had been.

After a year of imprisonment he realised he’d never learnt the man’s age, nor the date of his birth. Not that he would know the day from any other. Had he truly known him at all – or was he, perhaps, some conjuring of his imagination? His father had always said that he had a very alarming imagination and sometimes he still thought that he was not entirely alone. Maybe that was why he put him here, because he started imagining a young man who could truly love him. What was the colour of his eyes again? A deep maroon, he seemed to remember, or steely grey like the walls of his prison.

*

“Thomas hung himself in his cell during his second year, despite Nathaniel’s tireless work to have him removed which led to ridicule and his eventual decent into alcoholism,” she said, “and James turned into the feared pirate captain Flint whom I have told you about. James killed Alfred Hamilton with the help of a letter that came to Miranda, who lived just outside of Nassau for ten, long, dreadful years, always waiting for the Captain to return. I have told you of the circumstances which led to her death and what it drove James Flint to do. He continued to seek revenge, then, for his losses, until at last he met his match in Long John Silver. He died of drink in Savannah, alone and beaten in a world which hated him almost as much as he hated himself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it. That's the last true chapter. And I am genunely sorry. Genuinely.
> 
> I... yeah.
> 
> Ok this has been a ride... I don't quite know what to say except thank you and I'm so sorry. I'll say more in three days, I promise.
> 
> Thank you. X


	36. Epilogue

"That's it? That's the end?"

"Yes, that's all of it."

"I hate this story!" the girl cried.

"I hate Mr Silver!" the youngest boy yelled, and suddenly all three were chanting it.

"You hate Mr Silver?"

"Yes!" they yelled, all in unison.

"But what about the Earl and Admiral Hennessey, or Peter Ashe?" Silence spread among the little children. The eldest, the girl, looked pensive.

"They're worse," she concluded, with that haughty, assured air only a child can truly bear and manage to be endearing at the same time.

There was a knock at the door, and the littlest one flung himself from the room to get it. He returned with a letter in a rather poor state.

"Oh, it's from the Barlow gentlemen." The children assembled eagerly about her at that, barely giving her the peace to find the answer to their question; when would they arrive? "They will be here in a week or two, now shoo and let me read the rest of it in peace!" The children cheered and left her side obediently.

 _Abigail, my dear girl!_ it read, _I know not how he did it, but four days ago James found himself chased from the worksite by three angry carpenters and he has not yet told me what on earth he did to offend them. He managed, by a stroke of luck, to lose them, and now we are on our way again. They didn't know where we resided, so we could leave without too much worry. We are back on our horses and coming your way if you don't mind. We're a week or two off._

 _It is remarkable that one person such as James, skilled in everything he sets his mind to, greatest dread of the Caribbean, master swordsman and shot, a master of manipulation, capable of bending reality to his will, the greatest storyteller save for myself (and perhaps_ John _), a strategist unsurpassed and the most handsome man I have ever clapped eyes on, is so thoroughly helpless with a hammer in his hand. His fingers are all blue and broken from where he's hit them and currently he lacks three fingernails and one toenail. Don't even ask about that one!_

_Anyway, I believe that one day we will find the peace to settle somewhere, perhaps not far from yourself - wouldn't that be nice? I miss your company, dear girl, and I cannot yet express the happiness in having found you and in such a happy situation too. But for now, we will be wandering some more. It doesn't speak to us, anymore, to settle in one place. James is always restless and you know that the familiar still makes me feel like a man imprisoned. For now, we will be wanderers without an end in sight, but I do believe it is best for us. All the things that we have yet to see! The world is a truly beautiful place, and we are experiencing it together. I cannot wait to tell you all of our most recent sightings, and you will go green with envy when you hear where we plan to go next!_

_And I mentioned Mr Silver. I think I have finally truly understood why James will not let me speak ill of him. It is very simple; James sees himself as something much worse than that snake. He said to me: "if you cannot forgive John Silver his sins, you cannot forgive me mine and I should leave you for the injustice you do him" of course, James would not actually leave me; the idea is ludicrous, but I do get his point. I can't comprehend all the bloodshed he has caused directly or indirectly, but I know he still dreams of it and I know that he still is undecided whether he regrets it or not. I don't think he does. Yes, he is far worse than Mr Silver, so I will never speak ill of the man again (although I still do not like him!). I'm not certain why I tell you this, except my darling man still dreams of that dreadful time and we heard word of Silver not long ago when we were in the Spanish part of the world; something about the treasure James buried on Skeleton Island and a ship by the name of the Hispaniola, and it seemed to trigger him. However all seems well now, although I do keep an eye on him and I know that he's noticed. I'm lucky that he still thinks it endearing that _I_ endeavour to protect _him_._

_Otherwise, all is well. Have I yet expressed to you my happiness? Yes, I know that I have, but it keeps taking me by surprise every now and again, and this morning was one such because James woke me with some delightfully cooked eggs and coffee in the middle of the forest and I can't understand how he managed it. He is a true delight, my James. When I say that I don't deserve him, he simply laughs at me as if I've said the most stupid sentence ever to be uttered. He is rather charming in all his brutishness, isn't he?_

_James send his regards, of course. He is just as eager to see you again; he has quite taken you under his wing, hasn't he? I do like it when he becomes protective, it remembers me of a handsome young navy Lieutenant I knew in another life._

_Have a nice, good dinner prepared for us - James can't rightly cook anything very tasteful on the road and I think he looks a bit thin in the face. We're not very well off at the moment; there wasn't any work for me in the village. But let us not dwell on this, I'm certain something is just around the corner and will turn the tide! I'm looking forward to seeing you and the little ones again, my sweet bird. Until then - take care!_

_With love and affection,_

_Thomas and James Barlow._

*

In the end, no one knew that society was taken one step further by the veritable blood, sweat, and tears of two sodomites and a woman. No one knew, because society killed those souls and broken their hearts even before it took their bodies, before they could execute their plans, but not before they could plant the seed and be the start of something. Every war needs its martyrs, and this is the thanks one is to expect when trying one's best to push for better things. They fell by the hands of lesser men, fell because the world is cruel to those who are different, distrusting of those whose motivations it can't understand, because the will to do good for the sake of doing good is unconceivable. They were before their time, refused to fall in line like others when they could be something greater, so the world killed them when they were weak, when they were divided, alone, and trusting in a friend; a man befitting society in every way.

In the end, that is what society has proven itself to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of it all, Thomas and James seeing the world together and checking up on their daughter Abigail who really is very fine on her own, but thinks they're cute so she'll let them :')
> 
> This has been absolutely crazy, I never expected this to become so long, nor that I would dedicate half a year of my life to write a long fanfiction at all, so there's a surprise though not a bad one!
> 
> I hope you're all satisfied with the outcome, and I'd be very pleased if you let me know what you think (even weeks and months and years after today ;) ). If the last few chapters feel rushed, I'm so sorry - I did my best with the time I had, and I will read over this entire fic in the future and potentially better it, should that be needed.
> 
> A special thank you to all those who have followed me and encouraged me through the writing process with wonderful comments, that really motivated me to not put this aside. So much love for you all!
> 
> Now to statistics, because I'm a nerd!  
> This is a 207 page word document, no joke (it's insane to think that I've written so much!)  
> My document says 119,525 words (ao3 says differently, I don't know which is exactly right but who cares). Comparatively, the Prisoner of Azkaban is around 107,000 words, and Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen is 119,394 if anyone has read that one.  
> I started writing August 18th 2017, and finished January 15th 2018.  
> At some point I wrote 20k words in three days, which I find is a whole whole lot :)  
> My documet has been open for about 318 hours, and that's all I have to say on this matter :)
> 
> Again, thank you every one, you are truly wonderful!
> 
> And now, I suppose, it's goodbye for the last time (how strange)! Favourable winds to all of you!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](https://northwisesun.tumblr.com/) !


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